What's Up Doc?
by KRRouse
Summary: Sam's just a normal guy trying to make his way in today's world, but with roommates like Frodo, Merry and Pippin, and neighbors like Gimli and Gollum, it's not easy. Rated PG13, just in case.
1. Why Sam Never Smiles

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Lord of the Rings characters, places, etc. Also, a few parts in this story are borrowed from Seinfeld, which I do not own either.

**What's Up Doc**

Samwise Gamgee never smiled. It was believed that at one point in time, he was a high-spirited little hobbit barely out of his tweens who always found some reason to be happy, but that side of him had long since died away. Some people thought it was his daunting quest to Mordor and the fires of Mount Doom that had changed him. Others thought it was because he'd never gotten over moving from his old childhood neighborhood and into the big city.  
  
Sam just thought it was his roommates.  
  
He lived on the sixteenth floor of the Shire Apartment Complex, where he shared a home with three other hobbits: Frodo Baggins, Meriadoc Brandybuck, and Peregrin Took. Not only did Sam have to tolerate living with them and their annoying, immature, sometimes even revolting habits, but he was also stuck paying for food, electricity, plumbing, and heating (as well as their shares of the rent) all on his own.  
  
Seven years after destroying the Ring, Frodo was still searching for work, and Merry and Pippin had both been fired from bagging groceries at the local super market for "sampling" a ten-ounce package of mushrooms at the checkout counter. Now, the two worked as paperboys during the summer.  
  
Worse yet was Gimli, Sam's neighbor who lived just down the hall. The dwarf, who smelled similar to the rotting heap of cabbages he kept in his refrigerator, would often pay a visit to the hobbits' apartment for various things such as food, beer, cooking utensils, or the ever-popular laundry detergent. Sometimes he would just plop himself down on Sam's couch and watch TV, attracting flies as he did so.  
  
But whatever the reason may have been, Sam still never smiled.  
  
And he was doing a particularly good job of keeping this up as he stood in the west wing of the St. Radagast Hospital, frowning down at the package sitting before him on his boss's desk.  
  
He looked up at Haldir incredulously.  
  
"... And you're making everybody do this?" he asked.  
  
"Yes," Haldir said in a low, drawn-out Elvish accent as he filled out a stick-on label. "It's the only thing we can do until the cooling units are fixed."  
  
"But Sir, I can't just leave a case of morphine sitting in my freezer. My roommates go through there a million times a day; something's bound to happen to it." Sam looked down at it again. "...Especially now that we're getting supplies from a new company. I mean look at this thing! They're gonna think it's an ice cream jar for crying out loud!"  
  
"Well maybe this will help." Haldir stuck the label on top of the round lid. He was trying to be optimistic about the situation, as ridiculous sounding as it was, but he too was very familiar with Dr. Gamgee's roommates.  
  
"This is only going to be temporary, Gamgee. The units should be working in two weeks, maybe less. I know we've never had to do this in the past, but everything just happened so fast. I never thought I'd live to see the day when a man came in here with a monkey wrench to steal piping."  
  
"Yeah," Sam murmured. "Did they find him yet?"  
  
"Yes, actually," Haldir said, beaming. "He was very easy to spot in the crowd. He was hearing an orange and yellow Hawaiian shirt; very bright."  
  
The elf turned in his chair slightly, send Sam a mysterious sideward glance. "It was so loud we could have seen it in the dark," he said smugly.  
  
Sam sighed as he picked up the case of morphine. "You got a portable cooler? It's a bit of a drive home."  
  
"Here."  
  
Haldir reached down behind his desk and handed the red and white box to Sam. The hobbit stuffed the container inside, took the cooler's handle, picked up his brief case, and walked to the door.  
  
"I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Haldir," he said, and went out into the hall.  
  
"... Dr. Gamgee?" Haldir called after him.  
  
Sam stuck his head in the doorway. "What?"  
  
"Where are you going?" his boss asked, then pointed in the other direction with his pen. "The parking lot is _that_ way."  
  
"Oh, I know that, Sir." Sam took a step back and stood in the doorway. "But I have to wait for the car to get here."  
  
Haldir blinked. "What?"  
  
"Well, you see Sir, the guys had to run some errands, and well, we only have one car, so..."  
  
"Your roommates are picking you up?"  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
"... And ... they're coming here?"  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
Haldir sighed. "Alright. Just...keep them away from the rooms."  
  
"Yes Sir." Sam disappeared into the hallway again.  
  
Haldir sat back in his chair, letting out another heavy sigh. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment or two, then pulled out the June issue of THE NATIONAL ENQUIRER that he had been reading. He needed to take his mind off the soon-to-come onslaught of hobbits.  
  
"'Elvis/Big Foot Child Found in UFO Wreck'," he read, raising his unbleached eyebrows.  
  
Curiously, he turned the page.  
  
(Well, that's the first chapter. Any good? Please R&R.) 


	2. Of HickUps and Bad Driving

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

**What's Up Doc?**

****  
"Now make a right," Frodo instructed.  
  
ERRRRRCH!  
  
"No! The OTHER right!"  
  
SCREEEEEEAACH!  
  
"The sign says 'Do Not Enter', Pip," Merry added.  
  
Pippin turned his black weather-beaten ball cap backwards and leaned out the window as he proceeded to back up Sam's blue Civic Honda (The "C-Bird" as they all called it). Another car sailing down the lane that he was currently sitting in came to a sudden halt, sending the two elves inside jolting forward in their seats.  
  
"What are you doing, you moron?!" one shouted angrily as his friend blared the horn. "This is a one-way lane!"  
  
"He's a little slow this morning fellas!" Merry called nonchalantly out the back window, sounding as though this sort of thing happened frequently when his cousin drove the car, which in fact it did.  
  
Pippin let out a loud _"Hick!"_ and jumped slightly in his seat.  
  
"Would you stop that?" Frodo asked, exasperated. "You've been at it for an hour already."  
  
"I can't help it," Pippin said in defense.  
  
"Look, I already said, just hold your breath."  
  
"I don't like holding my breath. It's too hard—_Hick!_—to concentrate."  
  
"I told you not to drink that Pepsi so fast," Merry said.  
  
"Alright! Will you—_Hick!_—stop it already?" Pippin swerved back into his lane, finally making the right turn and driving up a small hill to the hospital parking lot.  
  
"There." Frodo pointed. "There's a spot right by the door. Park there."  
  
Pippin swung wildly to the left, away from the space.  
  
"Where're you going, Pip?" Merry asked, squeezing himself in between the other two hobbits to see.  
  
"I'm just backing in so I won't have to back out when we leave."  
  
"You're not even driving on the way home," Merry said impatiently. "Sam is!"  
  
"I can do it," Pippin insisted. The younger hobbit was already leaning halfway out the window. The C-Bird jerked backwards abruptly.  
  
"Pippin!" Frodo shouted as he was thrown forward. "Hit the brake! No, that's the gas!"  
  
Merry dove forward and slammed his fist down on the brake, along with Pippin's foot that happened to be in the way.  
  
Pippin screamed. There was another loud screech of rubber on asphalt, and the car stopped just centimeters short of hitting an SUV.  
  
Frodo glared at Pippin. "That's it. I'm parking the car."  
  
"Fine. _Hick!_"  
  
Frodo unbuckled his seatbelt and got up to take the wheel. Unfortunately, his leg was pinned underneath Merry's chest.  
  
"Merry? Could you get up for a second?"  
  
"I can't!" the other hobbit yelled up to him. "I'm stuck."  
  
"Here, let me help," Pippin offered and leaned down, still in his seatbelt. He grabbed Merry's shoulders and yanked with all his might, clenching his face tightly.  
  
"I can't move him!" he called up to Frodo.  
  
"I told you, I'm stuck!" Merry said angrily. "My arm's caught between the seats."  
  
"Hold on. We're probably pressing the cushions closer together when we're sitting on them," Frodo said. He inched out of his seat to sit on the floor under the dashboard. In turn, Pippin climbed on top of the backrest of the driver's seat, still leaning down to wrap his arms around Merry's waist.  
  
"Okay, try pulling him out again," Frodo said.  
  


* * *

Sam sat with his feet on his desk, trying to keep himself from looking at the cooler. His eyes strayed over to the framed diploma hanging on his wall, then down to the three "Employee of the Month" certificates below it, one of which he had just received two weeks ago. He was an accomplished doctor, despite the number of hurtles he had to practically fling himself over throughout his life at home.  
  
He'd been the most promising student in his class at college, and had found work at St. Radagast only a month after graduating. Sam had been working there for over three years now.  
  
And now, on top of everything else, he had just been approached by Elrond, the head doctor, to make a speech at the hospital's twenty-fifth anniversary dinner party next week. He had even been allowed to bring Frodo, Merry, and Pippin, though it had taken him a little while to convince Elrond that they really were well-behaved in public.  
  
Hearing three voices in the hall approaching his office, Sam sat up quickly.  
  
"Did you really have to use the umbrella?" Merry's voice asked. He sounded annoyed.  
  
"How else was I—_Hick!_—supposed to get you out?" Pippin's voice asked. "We didn't have a pry bar, so I used the umbrella instead. And how'd you—_Hick!_—manage to get stuck in there so tight anyway?"  
  
"I don't know!" Merry was exasperated. "I just did!"  
  
"Well you didn't have to tell him to 'watch where he was sticking that thing'." Frodo said in annoyance. "It was bad enough that the car was rocking like that. Now that lady'll never want to come here again."  
  
"Yeah," Merry agreed. "I'd say we officially scared her."  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and got up. There was a knock at the door, then Frodo called out, "Sam?"  
  
"Right here." Sam opened the door. "Any trouble getting to the hospital?" he asked curiously, pretending not to have heard their conversation.  
  
Frodo hesitated for a second. "No. Well, Pippin had a little trouble backing into the parking space—"  
  
"—But the rest was fine!" Pippin cut in, smiling eagerly.  
  
Sam raised his eyebrows skeptically, then let his friends in. "You didn't go in any of the rooms, did you?"  
  
"No. Why?"  
  
"No reason," Sam said, turning quickly to pick up his brief case. Pippin walked across the room, looking around at the office.  
  
"You do something to your office?" he asked.  
  
"The walls just got painted a couple of days ago."  
  
"It's a good change," Merry commented. "Tan's more of your color."  
  
Sam picked up the cooler. "C'mon, guys," he said hastily. "I've got a lot of work to do at the apartment."  
  
Pippin leaned outside Sam's office window. "Hey, check it out! You can see the C-Bird from here!"  
  
"Uh, Pippin, I really don't think it's a good idea to lean out like that," Sam went on anxiously. "We're three stories up, you know."  
  
Merry leaned out as well. "Whoa! Check out the Mustang!"  
  
"Where?" Pippin asked excitedly.  
  
"Right below us."  
  
"Man. That's one sweet ride!"  
  
"Wonder whose it is," Merry wondered aloud.  
  
"Guys?" Sam wanted to get out of the building with his roommates as soon as possible, but was trying not to hint it to them. "Can we go? I really don't like carrying this cooler around."  
  
"What's in it?" Frodo asked.  
  
Sam glanced at him edgily. "I'll tell you when we get home."  
  
"Alright," Merry said, sending the Mustang one last glance as he turned and went to the door. "Come on, Pip."  
  
Reluctantly, Pippin turned away as well, and was about to follow Merry when another hick-up stopped him in his tracks. He jumped, tripping and stumbling back. Instinctively, he threw his arms backwards, trying to stop himself from falling, and hit the ivy plant sitting on the windowsill. The small ceramic crock disappeared from sight as it fell. Pippin's head snapped around to gaze at it in shock.  
  
Several seconds passed, and the four of them heard a loud smash from far below.  
  
Sam sighed heavily, then uttered a rather suggestive word under his breath.  
  
........................................................  
  
(Boy, did I get interesting reviews on the first chapter. I had no idea these kind of Fics were so popular! Hope you like this chapter too.)


	3. Life in the Janitor's Closet

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

**What's Up Doc?**

"Yikes. So then what happened?"  
  
"Well," Frodo sat back in the little dog sofa and stared at his feet. "It went right through the windshield and knocked the driver unconscious. He was just sitting in the front seat eating a sandwich. Never knew what hit him."  
  
"Bummer."  
  
Frodo was about to continue, but stopped and stared with odd look on his face. "You alright?"  
  
"Yeah. Why?"  
  
"We've been talking for ten minutes," Frodo pointed out," and you haven't said 'Precious' once."  
  
Gollum shrugged. "So?"  
  
"So?" the hobbit echoed. "You used to say it every other sentence! Now you suddenly don't use it anymore?"  
  
"We've gotten over it," Gollum said.  
  
There was a _ding!_, and the thin creature leapt from his seat atop the box of powder paste and scurried over to the rusted old Easy Bake Oven he'd found in the dumpster next door. He reached inside, pulling out a half- burned rodent-like creature (most likely a squirrel) and sat down in front of the sofa.  
  
"Want some?" He held his dinner up in front of Frodo.  
  
"Uh...no thanks," Frodo said, trying to keep his lunch from reappearing as he breathed in the stench. "I brought something along for myself."  
  
Quickly, he pulled out his bag of Cheetos and began stuffing them into his mouth.  
  
It had not been long after moving to the big city when Frodo discovered that Gollum had survived his fall into Mt. Doom. He was walking to the dry cleaner's when he'd spotted the hobbit-like being sitting on the side of the road, wrapped in bandages like a mummy as he tried to sing a painfully off-key rendition of "My Heart Will Go On" to a gathering flock of pigeons.  
  
Naturally, Frodo had been shocked to see him alive, and certainly was far from thrilled about it. After all, he was still adjusting to his new artificial finger, which he wouldn't have needed if it weren't for his treacherous guide. But the hobbit soon felt remorse, seeing how much worse off than him Gollum was injury-wise, and decided to go up to the old creature and try to set aside their differences once and for all.  
  
Three days and fourteen stitches later, Frodo had gone to Gandalf, the super at the Shire Complex, and made a deal to let Gollum move into the janitor's closet across the hall from his apartment. Two months after that, Gandalf had even agreed to let him live there for free, since the closet wasn't exactly a five-star hotel room. Besides, Gollum had no money, and was paying the wizard for his rent with dead fish.  
  
Frodo would visit him every now and then to see how he was adjusting, and eventually Gollum's begrudged feelings towards him went away. Now Frodo was the only other person Gollum let inside his closet, and he had gone there today to get the events of that afternoon off his chest.  
  
Sam never understood why Frodo went to Gollum first when he wanted to talk about these things. After all, he already lived with three other people who had never amputated any of his digits in the past. Frodo's answer, of course, was obvious: Gollum had cable.  
  
Or at least he used to, until the cable company found out. So Frodo decided that it was because he liked how different and laid-back life was in the closet, which was still being used to store the janitor's supplies. Gollum said it added to the look somehow.  
  
"Whose Mustang was it, anyway?" the creature asked as he dug through the pockets of the ratty old loincloth he still preferred wearing.  
  
"That's the funny part," Frodo said. He licked the orange coating of cheese from his fingers. "It was Gimli's."  
  
Gollum started at this, spinning around to look at Frodo. "Where did it get a Mustang from?" he asked. "Smeagol thought it had a pick-up truck."  
  
"He still does," Frodo confirmed. "I saw it in the parking lot. Maybe he just borrowed the Mustang. It didn't smell that much like cabbage."  
  
"Probably a friend's. How long's he gonna be at the hospital?"  
  
"Just over night."  
  
"That's good," Gollum said, turning on the VCR. He dragged a stack of videos out from under the dog sofa and sorted through them. "We has 'No Gollum', 'Nice Gollum', and 'Nasty Gollum.' Which one does it want?"  
  
Frodo pointed to the copy of The Two Towers. "'Nice Gollum.' I don't get stabbed in that one."  
  
Gollum was all smiles as he popped the tape into the player. "Nice Gollum" was his favorite of the three, since he only had about five lines in the appropriately named "No Gollum" and was constantly falling off cliffs in "Nasty Gollum."  
  
Once the opening credits began playing, he sat back down, retrieved the plastic fork and knife from his pockets, and began cutting up his dinner.  
  
Frodo just stared.

* * *

"He's different," Frodo said. "He isn't acting like himself at all."  
  
"What's different about him?" Sam asked as he flipped through his speech cards. The two were sitting at the kitchen table.  
  
"Well, he hasn't been making those 'Gollum' noises lately. I noticed that about a week ago. And I just noticed today that he doesn't say 'Precious' anymore. And now he's eating with utensils."  
  
"So?" Sam asked. "You used to hate watching him eat."  
  
"I know," Frodo admitted. "It's just odd that he's acting this way all of a sudden."  
  
"Do you want him to be a crazy addict with no hygiene?"  
  
"Well ... no."  
  
Sam shrugged. "Then why're you complaining?"  
  
Frodo looked irritated. "Because I actually give a care about the guy."  
  
"Hey Sam," Merry called from the freezer. "Where's the label on this ice cream?"  
  
"Don't touch that!" Sam shouted, spinning around in his chair. "It's morphine! It says on the top."  
  
"Where'd you get morphine from?" Merry asked. He seemed interested for an answer.  
  
"The hospital. Git!" Sam waved his hand quickly, signaling Merry to step away from the refrigerator. The other hobbit frowned and went down the little hall to his room.  
  
"... And tell Pippin to leave it alone, too!" Sam added.  
  
He turned back to Frodo. "Maybe he's just getting better now that the Ring's gone."  
  
"Gollum?" Frodo asked as though he'd just been told a joke. "Sam, it's only been seven years. He didn't get better when Bilbo had it for _sixty_ years. I think something's up."  
  
"Did you ask him about it?"  
  
"Yeah. He said the same thing you did. But you know how he is."  
  
"What? Charming? Considerate?"  
  
"A liar," Frodo said.  
  
"Ah, yes," Sam said sarcastically. "I always forget that one."  
  
Frodo sent him an annoyed look.  
  
"Ooh! Ice cream!" Pippin said from behind them as he reached into the freezer.  
  
"Get away from that!" Sam shouted frantically. "It's morphine!"  
  
"What's it doing here?" Pippin asked.  
  
"It's a long story," Sam said. "Just don't touch it."  
  
Pippin shrugged. "Whatever." He started to leave, then stopped. "What would it do to me?"  
  
"Think of it like ale," Sam said. "A little makes you act stupid, a lot can kill you. It's ale plus plus."  
  
Pippin nodded, understanding this analogy quite well, and sat down in front of the TV.  
  
Sam turned back to Frodo again. "Just give him a little time. The stinker'll be fine."  
  
Frodo sighed. "Alright. How's the speech going, anyway?"  
  
"Pretty good." Sam showed him the cards. "It's a little long, though. About six minutes. I'm not quite sure what to take out."  
  
Frodo flipped through the cards. "... Do you really need to use words like 'agonizing' and 'miserable' when you're talking about working there?"  
  
"Why not?" Sam asked. "They wanted me to be honest."  
  
"To what degree?"  
  
Sam looked at the note card. "...Maybe I'll just say 'hard' and 'depressing.'"  
  
"That works." Frodo got up and went over to the refrigerator. He took out a soda, hesitated, then opened the freezer.  
  
"Hey, when'd you buy ice cream?" he asked jokingly.  
  
The corners of Sam's mouth lifted slightly at this.

........................................................  
  
(Keep those reviews coming!) 


	4. So Much Suspicion in So Little Time

Disclaimer: I don't own LotR. That simple.

**What's Up Doc?**

"Okay," Sam said. "We're getting in the elevator now."  
  
Gimli grunted and nodded his head as he was pulled along. The hospital had deemed him unfit to drive back to the Complex, so Sam, feeling that this was all somehow his fault, had driven him home.  
  
Gimli had completely let himself go after the War of the Ring. His arms were covered with tattoos, his beard tied into a ponytail with two braids hanging down on either side of it. His hair was also pulled back into a ponytail, which hung down in a tangled mess over the back of his tie-dyed tank top. Sporting a matching pair of shorts and clumsy looking flip-flops, he looked more like someone who had just come back from the beach, rather than the hospital.  
  
In truth, he once worked at a surf shack, but decided it wasn't really his kind of thing. It was believed that he was still working, but no one was quite sure where.  
  
"I hate the elevator," Gimli said groggily, holding the ice pack up to his forehead. "It moves around too much. Why's it gotta move around so much?"  
  
"It's either that or the stairs," Sam pointed out. "And I don't think you'll be wanting to go up that way."  
  
"I mean, really! I've had some pretty bad headaches before, but this is definitely the worst!" Gimli said. "And I mean I've _really_ had some bad headaches! _Really_ bad ones! Like just the other day when I came home in the morning from Old Toby's. What a hang-over that was! You remember that one?"  
  
"You showed up at my door wearing a sailor hat and no pants, Gimli," Sam said flatly as he fought to keep his thinning patience together. "I think that one has found its own personal spot in my memory to haunt forever."  
  
"I know!" the dwarf exclaimed. "And this headache's a million times worse! And I didn't even do nothin' this time!"  
  
"Get ready," Sam said, tuning him out. "We're going up to the sixteenth floor."  
  
"No wait—" Gimli began, but Sam pressed the button. The tiny room began vibrating as they rose, and Sam could hear a loud thump behind him as Gimli fell forward onto his face. He glanced over at his neighbor with a devilish look of amusement in his eyes. Just a little way of getting even with him for the long, agonizing ride home.  
  
Gimli sat up. "What happened to me anyway?"  
  
"You took a flower pot to the head," Sam said, hoisting him up to his feet. "And so did your car."  
  
"My car?" Gimli asked, sounding puzzled. Sam looked at him oddly. "... Oh yes, _my_ car!" he said again, more certain. "Uh ... what happened to it?"  
  
"The windshield's a little out of commission, but you're good otherwise. I put the auto shop number on your door."  
  
"Uh ... thanks ..." For the first time since Sam had met him, Gimli was suddenly at a loss for words. The hobbit felt suspicious, but decided to keep out of this one. He had enough things to think about right now.  
  
The elevator came to a halt, and the doors finally slid open. Gimli lurched out like a stupefied drunk and hung a sharp left to his apartment. Sam was about to ask him if he had a key when the dwarf reached out and pushed the door, which wasn't even attached to its frame anymore, out of the way and went inside.  
  
Sam retrieved his note and followed him.  
  
"Beer?" Gimli offered as he reached into the mini-fridge by his couch. "Maybe a cabbage? I've got a lot that I don't know what to do with."  
  
"Don't you ever eat it?" Sam inquired, stepping back as a foul wave of stench escaped from the fridge.  
  
Gimli looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head. "No, not really."  
  
"Then why do you have so much of it?"  
  
The dwarf thought again. "I don't know. I guess I just like to have something extra in there if someone comes over."  
  
Sam nodded slightly, becoming suddenly anxious to leave the room. "Well here's the number if you want to call the auto shop."  
  
"And see how my car's doing," Gimli said, nodding.  
  
Sam handed him the number, turned, and hurried down the hall to his own apartment.  
  
After sitting the door back in place of course. 

* * *

It was about 8:30 when Frodo flew in through the door and threw himself down on the couch. Sam was sitting adjacent to him in the armchair, reading the paper.  
  
"I was right," Frodo said quickly, still catching his breath.  
  
Sam looked up at him. "About what?"  
  
Frodo held out his hand, dropping a small white capsule onto the coffee table.  
  
"I found a whole jar of them under a bucket in Smeagol's closet. I knew something was up with him. He's on medication!"  
  
"This is a prescription pill," Sam said. He picked it up to see if it had any writing or symbols. There were none.  
  
He glanced back at Frodo. "And he had a whole jar?"  
  
"He said his doctor told him to take them. I didn't really believe him, so he told me the address of the place. He goes to the West Orthanc Clinic."  
  
"So it's regular medication then," Sam said indifferently. He sat the capsule back down on the coffee table. "You stole this from him?"  
  
"No, actually. He let me borrow it. Guess he figured he had enough."  
  
"Well give it back next time you see him. He'll be needing it sooner or later."  
  
Frodo looked uncomfortable. "Well ... you see ... I'm really not sure if he should be taking them at all."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"He told me who his doctor was."  
  
Sam blinked. "Who is it?"  
  
"Well, Smeagol said it started with a 'G', but he didn't know the actual name. He can't read, you know, so he couldn't just check the sign or anything. He said that everyone just calls the guy 'Wormtongue.'"  
  
This got Sam's attention. "Wormtongue?" he repeated. "_Grima_ Wormtonue? That little snake that Merry and Pippin saw up at Isengaurd?"  
  
"Do you know any other Wormtongues?"  
  
"I thought he was dead." Sam turned and yelled, "Hey Merry!"  
  
"What?" The third hobbit stuck his head out from the little hall.  
  
"Have you ever met Grima Wormtongue?"  
  
Merry shrugged. "Sort of. I saw him, but he kinda' got shot before I could properly introduce myself. Why?"  
  
"Uh ... no reason."  
  
Merry disappeared into the hall and headed back to his room.  
  
Sam climbed out of his chair and went over to the miniature bookshelf in the corner. He scanned the top row of books, cupping his chin in one hand.  
  
"What're you doing?" Frodo asked.  
  
"I want to know what kind of pill that is. Here." Sam pulled out an old medical book. "Might as well check with the experts. Then I wanna check out this Wormtongue guy, see if he's the same one. I mean, you never know. Just look at the stinker; he survived."  
  
"Yeah. It's weird. Funny, but weird. I mean really, how many times can a guy fall off a cliff and live to tell about it?"  
  
"Evidently, more than two." Sam looked up. "By the way, how did he survive that second time?"  
  
Frodo shrugged. "I dunno. He said he used really good sunscreen. And then a vulture scooped him up after we left."  
  
"Of course," Sam said dryly.  
  
........................................................  
  
(The wheels are being set in motion now...)


	5. The Investigations Continue

Disclaimer: Don't own LotR

**What's Up Doc**

The last half hour was a blur in Gimli's mind. Nine hundred dollars for a new windshield. Nine hundred! Not ninety, not even a hundred and ninety. _Nine hundred!_ Balin was gonna kill him!  
  
"Are you lost, little boy?" a woman's voice asked.  
  
Gimli looked up from his seat on the sidewalk bench. The woman, seeing the bearded, somewhat wrinkled face of a dwarf staring at her, stepped back. "Oh, I'm sorry. I just assumed you were a child."  
  
"Look, I know four-foot-five is short for a dwarf, but I'll have you know that I'm turning a hundred and fifteen in three months!"  
  
"No! I meant a human child."

Gimli was the one to be embarrassed now. "Oh. Ok." He looked down again.  
  
The woman stared at him. "You look like something's bothering you," she said, sitting down.  
  
"Oh, I just got a bill for seven hundred dollars to get my windshield replaced."  
  
The woman's eyes grew wide. "Are you that young man with the Mustang they took to the hospital the other day?"  
  
Gimli looked up, surprised. "Yeah! Why? Were you there?"  
  
"Yes. I even saw what happened! It was awful!"  
  
The dwarf leaned forward, giving her his full attention. "How'd it happen?"  
  
"Well, I might be mistaken. I mean, I was already a bit shaken before the incident. I was just on my way up when I heard three voices coming from the parking lot. They were in a blue car, yelling."  
  
She looked nervous. "I ... I think they might have been ... oh, I can't say it."  
  
"Disgusting kids." Gimli grumbled. "But what about after that? What happened with my car?"  
  
"It was a little hard to see. I was across the street when I saw it. But it looked like some sort of plant just fell out of the third story window!"  
  
"It just fell like that?"  
  
"Actually, now that I think about it, I saw somebody look out the window after it fell."  
  
"...What did they look like?"  
  
"It was hard to see his face," the woman said. "He had a lot of hair, all thick and curly. And an old black ball cap."  
  
Gimli looked frozen.  
  
"Are you alright?" she asked.  
  
"Uh ... yeah. Perfectly alright," he said flatly. "What's your name?"  
  
"Morwen."  
  
"Well, Morwen, you've been a very big help," Gimli said, shaking her hand. "A very big help."  
  
With that, he turned and hurried across the street to his pickup truck.  
  
"Very big help," he said to himself as he flung open the door. 

* * *

"ROOOAAARR!"  
  
"Down, Garfunkle!" the orc ordered. His pet warg, Garfunkle, snarled at Sam once more before sitting at its owner's side.  
  
"Don't take it personally," the orc said in a gruff voice. "He does that to everybody."  
  
Sam nodded, dazed. "Thanks."  
  
Walking into the waiting room of the West Orthanc Clinic was like taking a trip through Mordor all over again. The room was done in black and red tones, with a large fiery eye painted on the ceiling. Old orc helmets and shields covered the walls, along with a few weapons that Sam could tell had been borrowed once or twice since being placed on their display racks.  
  
The patients were all either orcs or goblins, and each of them were fixedly watching the out-of-place hobbit's every move. Sam couldn't help but wonder to himself if Gollum was afraid of the office as well, knowing how reluctant the dreature had been to enter Mordor in the past.  
  
"Can I help you?" the lady behind the desk asked.  
  
Sam came forward stiffly. "Uh, yes. I was wondering if this man worked here."  
  
He pulled out a wallet-sized photo of Wormtongue from his pocket and sat it on the desk for her to see.  
  
She nodded, scratching under her armpit with dagger-like red nails. "Yeah. He's one of the docs. Why? You wanna see him or somethin'?"  
  
"Yes," Sam said, trying not to look surprised.  
  
The lady jabbed her finger to the left. "He's in his office. Don't usually like to be bugged this early in the mornin', though, so be quick about it."  
  
"Thanks," Sam said warily and went down the hallway, which was done in black and red eye wallpaper. He came to a door with a sign on it reading: "Doctor Grima "Wormtongue" Johnson III. Leechcrafter Extraordinaire."  
  
Holding back a snicker from the ridiculous title, Sam knocked twice.  
  
"Who is it?" a thin, cracking voice called from inside.  
  
"Doctor ... Samuel Smith," Sam lied, feeling it was probably best to keep a low profile. "I'm from St. Radagast."  
  
An eyehole above him slid open. "Where are you?" the voice asked.  
  
"Down here Sir," Sam said. The door opened a crack.  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
"I came here to talk to you about a patient of yours. A guy named Gollum, Smeagol, whatever."  
  
The door finally swung open, revealing the pale, black-clad, man from Sam's picture. "What is it?" he asked as he gazed down at the hobbit with sunken eyes.  
  
"Well, a friend of mine knows him pretty well, and he found this in his apartment." Sam held out the capsule in a plastic zip-lock bag.  
  
Wormtongue nodded. "Yes, I put him on those pills a month ago. He's mentally depressed."  
  
"I'm quite aware of that," Sam said, "but I took a look at these pills. You're giving him citalopram."  
  
"Yes," Wormtongue nodded, his voice sounding a tad irritated. "It's Celexa. I told him to take five pills every day."  
  
"I'm aware of that also Doctor Worm—err—Johnson, and we both think you should take him off of it."  
  
There was a glint in the man's eye. "And why would you think that?"  
  
"Well, you do know how old he is, don't you?"  
  
"No, I don't. He said he wasn't really sure himself."  
  
"Oh." Sam though for a moment. How old _could_ he be? "Well, he's up there pretty high. I'm guessing in his late four hundreds, maybe early five hundreds. I really don't think you should be giving him so much medication at that age."  
  
Grima Wormtongue said nothing for a long time. He lifted his head, looking down at Sam snootily, then wrinkled his features.  
  
"Do you know who I am?" he demanded.  
  
Sam's first instinct was to say that he did, and that was why he'd come to this freak show of a doctor's office in the first place. But it was obvious that Wormtongue was already angry at his suggestion. So he said no instead.  
  
"I was advisor to the king of Rohan for thirty years, master hobbit," the man scoffed. "I had power, and I was respected. And then it was all swiped away from me in an instant! I was reduced to a cowering rat, and for five years, that was how it was. But now I'm here, and I have power again. Those orcs out there in that waiting room, they're all mine. I tell them to do something, and they obey without question. I rule over them all!"  
  
Sam raised his eyebrows. "Are you done yet?" he asked.  
  
"No!" Wormtongue snapped. He pointed a threatening finger. "You stay away from my patients. Hear me? You keep your nosy little head out of my business and in a textbook where it belongs. I hate the whole lot of you little folk, acting so high and mighty to all us. Now you crawl back into your hole and pretend you were never here, or I'll hear about it otherwise! And you'll be sorry!"  
  
"Doctor Wormtongue?" It was the lady from behind the desk. "Is there a problem here, Sir?"  
  
Grima Wormtongue glared down at Sam, expecting him to answer.  
  
Sam glared back, stone-faced. "No, Ma'am," he said, never breaking eye contact. "We were just finished talking."  
  
Then with that, he slipped the zip-lock bag back in his pocket and quietly left the building.

* * *

Frodo was the only one in the apartment when Sam came back. It was still early, and Merry and Pippin were at the diner having a breakfast or two. Frodo was watching cartoons like he always did in the morning.

"What're you doing here?" he asked as his friend came in. "Something happen at the hospital?"

"I took the day off," Sam said. "Is the stinker home?"

"I'd imagine. Why?"

"How fast do you think you can get him over here?"

Frodo shrugged. "It'll take a while to convince him. I've tried to bring him over before, but he wouldn't go in."

Sam looked at him hard. "Try it again."

"Why? What happened?"

"I went down to check out the Worm," Sam said. "So just ... just get Gollum over here. We're gonna see how much he's gotten used to spending time with hobbitses."  
  
........................................................  
  
(I know that chapter wasn't extremely funny, but I'm still getting things set up for later. Merry and Pippin will be returning to the fic in the next chapter. ( )


	6. Assault of the Flaming Cabbages

Disclaimer: Don't own LotR or Seinfeld or whatever else you recognize in this story.

**What's Up Doc**

"You're an idiot."  
  
"What?" Pippin asked defensively. "She over reacted! It was a little piece! And she had worse-looking stuff in her hair already."  
  
"Pippin," Merry said impatiently, "you were flinging scrambled eggs at her with a spoon! If anything, she _under_ reacted."  
  
"It wasn't on purpose. I was aiming for the trash can."  
  
"Why did you even order eggs? You hate them."  
  
"I've never had their eggs before. I thought they might be good, but they weren't."  
  
Merry sighed. "Well we're lucky that they didn't throw us out for good. Let's go home."  
  
"Fine," Pippin said, sulking. "I'll make my own second breakfast."  
  
They silently made their way through the parking lot. 

* * *

Gimli's eyes were ablaze. It was Pippin! Pippin was the one who smashed the windshield and knocked him out cold! It was Pippin's fault that he owed the hospital ninety-eight dollars and the auto shop _nine hundred_ _dollars!_  
  
Angrily, the half-loaded dwarf yanked open the glove compartment and pulled out a large round object, purple in color. Clutching it in one hand, he turned a sharp left and spotted the diner.  
  
Then he put the pickup truck in drive and retrieved a yellow smiley face Zippo lighter from his pocket. He was going to get that fool of a Took for this.  
  
And then maybe make him pay for the damage if he was still alive after that.

* * *

"I'm gonna get a newspaper," Merry said. "You got any change?"  
  
"How much do you need?" Pippin asked, pulling a handful of coins and candy wrappers from his pocket.  
  
"A dollar."  
  
"Hang on." The younger hobbit began sorting through his change.  
  
Merry looked down at the coins oddly. "You don't have any quarters?"  
  
"No; it's all nickels."  
  
"How'd you end up with all nickels?"  
  
"I like nickels."  
  
No sooner had Pippin said this than he dropped half of his coins, which bounced and rolled in all directions. One came to a stop in front of Merry, who sent it a half-hearted smirk.  
  
"Gotta love those nickels," he said.  
  
"Feel free to help me," Pippin muttered flatly. He crouched down on all fours to gather his money.  
  
Almost instantly, a fiery round object sailed over him, smashing into the window of an unfortunate Buick. Both hobbits leapt nearly their own heights off the ground, startled from how abruptly it had happened. Glass showered everywhere. The purple object tumbled onto the ground, still smoking.  
  
Merry and Pippin froze, their eyes glued to it.  
  
Then across the parking lot, from the street, came a familiar voice.  
  
"I'll get you, Peregrin Took!" it shouted, though with the gutteral Scottish accent (as well as the drunken slur) it sounded more like "Pedigrim Tug."  
  
The hobbits exchanged looks. "Gimli," they said in unison.  
  
"You rascal!" the dwarf screeched again as he threw a second flaming cabbage from his window. "I'm gonna sew the hairs on your toes to the ones in your ears!"  
  
"Quick!" Merry exclaimed. "Grab the bikes!"  
  
Pippin jumped to the side as the second cabbage sailed past him again. He ran, tripped, and scrambled onto the seat of his bicycle.  
  
Then he and Merry took off with Gimli in hot pursuit.  
  
"What in the Valor's name has gotten into him?!" Merry shouted, beginning to pedal faster. "I just saw him on my route two hours ago! He even said hi to me!"  
  
"He's not yelling at _you!_" Pippin responded. "_I'm_ the one he wants to get!"  
  
"Well he's sure having a good time_ chasing_ both of us, isn't he?!"  
  
"I'll string you up on a flagpole and feed you to the pigeons!" Gimli yelled, and a third flaming cabbage was thrown.  
  
This one didn't miss.  
  
It hit the front wheel of Pippin's bike, sending both hobbits tumbling onto the sidewalk. Gimli stepped on the gas.  
  
Neither of the two said a word as they leapt to their feet and scurried over a brick wall, jumping down into the alley beyond.  
  
After parking his truck, their pursuer stepped out and proceeded to climb the wall himself. Fortunately for Merry and Pippin, the dwarf was quite gifted in girth, and it took him several minutes to accomplish this feat (and even longer to climb to his feet after landing in a heap on the other side of the wall). From there, he followed their route up a fire escape, soon finding himself on the roof of the building.  
  
Unaware of his presence, Merry and Pippin came to a halt at the far edge of the roof. The next building was at least stood two and a half meters away. Making the jump would be too risky.  
  
Pippin squinted down, panting. "There's a dumpster down there. Think we should aim for that?"  
  
"No way," Merry gasped for air. "I choose life." He turned his back to the edge and stood, trying to catch his breath.  
  
And was greeted with the sight of Gimli charging towards him, taking aim with his last cabbage.  
  
"...So let's do it!" Merry shouted, and grabbing Pippin's arm, he pushed off.  
  
The fall probably only lasted about two seconds, but it felt like two minutes. There was a loud noise, a muffled combination of a _whumph_, a _clank_, and a _sploosh!_ A cloud of dust and debris, as well as a few tin cans, rose up from the dumpster and onto the asphalt of the silent alley.  
  
Gimli hesitated before preparing himself to follow, but stopped. Somehow, as thick-headed as he was, he'd decided that he wasn't quite cut out for that kind of a stunt just yet. Falling one meter off the wall had been hard enough. So instead he shouted more threats.  
  
"I'll get you, Pedegrim Tug! You just wait! I'll get you! And your little friend too! I'll get you! Curse you! Curse you! Filthy hobbitses! Curse you!!"  
  
Then Gimli threw his head back and screamed up at the sky for no apparent reason. Maybe it just made everything look more dramatic if he did. Once he'd finished this, he held up his cabbage and took an enraged bite out of it.  
  
He chewed for a moment, then smiled, a new light showing in his eyes. It was good. Maybe he really should listen to Sam and actually eat them for a change!  
  
The dwarf turned and disappeared down the fire escape. Once he was out of sight, two grimy heads rose from the load of garbage, staring ahead blankly.  
  
Merry wiped a glob of thick brown sauce, or so he hoped it was only sauce, from his face. "Don't know what he's so upset about, unless it's the accident from the other day. But it was only a couple of stitches!"  
  
"And a broken windshield," Pippin added, pulling an apple core out of his shirt collar. "And that concussion he had for three hours. And that excruciatingly painful headache he had all day yesterday!"  
  
"Yes Pippin!" the other hobbit snapped. "My point is: He's clearly overreacting!"  
  
Pippin removed an old sock from his sleeve and met Merry's eye again. "Or is he _under_ reacting?" he asked wryly.  
  
"Oh shut up," Merry grumbled.

* * *

Frodo squeezed his eyes shut and pulled again. "Come on!" he growled through clenched teeth. "He just wants to talk to you!"  
  
"Nooooooo!" Gollum shrieked, clinging desperately to the doorknob of his closet. "No! No! Nooooooo!!"  
  
Frodo grabbed the creature by his bony legs and continued the pathetic tug-of-war game, now with a better grip. "Smeagol, you're acting like a five- year-old!"  
  
"Smeagol doesn't care! We's not going in there! It can't makes us!"  
  
"I'm starting to get that impression," Frodo said, annoyed. "But really..." he pulled again, "What's so bad about Sam?"  
  
"What does it think's wrong? Fat hobbit hates Smeagol!"  
  
"Well can you really blame him for it?"

"You like us," Gollum pointed out.  
  
"Not at the present moment, I don't," Frodo said as he tried once more to pull Gollum off of the door. He would have gone over and pried the creature's fingers from the doorknob, but somehow the sight of his artificial finger kept making him change his mind.  
  
"Well it's still a nasty, cruel fat hobbit," Gollum whimpered, desperately trying to free his legs. "And what's Smeagol ever done to him anyway?"  
  
Frodo looked at his neighbor from across the hall like he was joking. "Well let's see." He let Gollum squirm free and huddle against the wall. Casually, the hobbit began counting on his fingers as he spoke.  
  
"Within two minutes of meeting each other, you smacked him in the face, bit him in the shoulder, and tried to strangle him. Then you started calling him 'the fat hobbit.' After that, you made plans to murder us, which he happened to overhear."  
  
He looked down at Gollum. "That was all before the first time you asked what you ever did to him. After that, you threw all our food off a cliff and blamed it on him, and convinced me that he'd steal the Ring so I'd make him leave. And then a little while after that, you hit him over the head with a rock."  
  
"We also bit it in the shoulder again," Gollum added sheepishly. "But we bit off your finger and you likes us now. How exactly does that work?"  
  
Frodo shrugged. "I guess I just felt bad. I mean, it was kind of my fault you fell off that cliff in the first place."  
  
"Which one?" Gollum asked, narrowing his eyes.  
  
"Both," Frodo said. He stopped and sniffed the air. "... Are you ... wearing cologne?"  
  
"No," Gollum said. "It's toilet bowl cleanser. We found some on the shelves. It had a picture of a toilet on the label, so we knows what it was. It was blue!"  
  
"Why would you put on toilet bowl cleanser?" Frodo asked.  
  
"Because Smeagol stinks," Gollum said, wrinkling his nose. "We smells worse than stupid dwarf and it's stinky vegetables!"  
  
Frodo's shoulders sagged as he rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. "That's it. Get in there!"  
  
He hurried to get behind Gollum and flung open the door to his own apartment. Despite the numerous protests and insults he was barraged with, he shoved his struggling friend through the doorway, diving in after him and locking the door.  
  
Sam stood before them, arms crossed over his chest as he met Gollum's eye.  
  
The creature shrank under his gaze, and instinctively got down on his hands and knees like a cowering dog. He glanced up in Sam's general direction.  
  
"...Nice hobbit," he said, forcing an innocent smile.  
  
.........................................

(Longer chapter than most. Did Merry and Pippin's conversation in the dumpster sound a little familiar to anyone? Lol!)


	7. Close Encounters of the Smelly Kind

Disclaimer: Don't own LotR or Seinfeld.

**What's Up Doc?**

Pippin limped into the parking lot of the Shire Apartment Complex, walking his battered bicycle beside him. The black paint was scratched, even burned in some parts, and the front tire was bent into a "V." He was still covered head to toe in grime and grease, and he smelled like beer.  
  
Merry, who was in equally poor condition, came up behind him, trailing a bird's nest of fishing line behind him that he hadn't quite been able to remove from his left foot. The front wheel and handlebars of his bike were twisted completely around, and would not turn back into their forward position.  
  
They each threw their useless bikes into an empty parking space—not particularly caring if somebody stole them before the next morning—and went into the lobby.  
  
Sitting behind his desk, Gandalf peered up at the two from his magazine. "Dare I inquire?" he asked the conspicuous duo.  
  
Merry turned to look at him, a zombie-like expression on his face. "Cabbage." He said dismally, then turned to follow Pippin into the elevator.  
  
Gandalf sighed and looked back down at his magazine.  
  
"Hobbits," he muttered to himself, and turned the page.  
  
The doors closed behind them, and Pippin reached out to push the sixteenth floor button. "Do you want to explain it to them or should I?" he asked.  
  
Merry reached back and pulled a fly-encrusted piece of an éclair from the hood of his shirt. 

"...Yeah," he said absent-mindedly.

* * *

Frodo wasn't exactly sure what to do in his room. It was already cleaned, and he had no television or radio to sit in front of. His main priority had been to just get out of the living room and let Sam talk to Gollum alone. He would have just been in the way otherwise.  
  
And so, having nothing better to do, he'd put his ear to the door and was at the moment listened to the conversation outside.  
  
"Look Gollum, or do you like Smeagol?" Sam's voice asked.  
  
"We's not listening to it! Not listening to mean fat hobbit!"  
  
"It's Sam."  
  
"Fat Sam, then."  
  
"Whatever." Sam sounded far from thrilled with the conversation. "Can you just try to be reasonable about this? It's for your own good."  
  
"We wants to go home! Smeagol hates it in here. Smeagol hates nasty hobbitses' home!"  
  
"Gollum, you're not going back to the janitor's closet to take your pills, alright? You're stayin' right here where I can keep an eye on you."  
  
"Since when is fat hobbit Smeagol's boss?" Gollum sneered. "We's not listening to it. Let us out!"  
  
"No. You can't be taking that stuff, Gollum, and I don't trust you enough to leave you alone."  
  
"But Wormtongueses says we must take pills. We listens to Wormtongues."  
  
"Wormtongue's a quack," Sam shot back. "He's so power-hungry and full of himself that he makes his patients do this kind of stuff just because he can. He has no right bein' in the practice, and his patients are all morons for going to him in the first place."  
  
There was a sharp hiss in response to this comment, and Frodo could tell that things weren't about to smooth out between the two. He stepped back from the door and sat on his bed.  
  
In the living room, Sam stood up from his chair. "And if I could, I'd tell them all to stop going to him, but you're the only one I happen to know, so you get the honors."  
  
From where he sat in front of the couch, Gollum looked up at Sam and blinked his thick lids. "So ... fat hobbit's pretending to do something nice just so it can get back at someone else?"  
  
"More or less, yeah."  
  
"Well, Smeagol can respect _that_ at least," Gollum murmured, looking back down at the floor.  
  
"I'm flattered," Sam grumbled. "But I'm not letting you out 'till you're back to your old miserable self again. Got it?"  
  
At that moment, the sound of keys jingling could be heard, making Gollum turn his head to the door suddenly. He could hear the lock being undone, and leapt from his seat and darted across the room.

Sam jumped, startled by his quickness, and hurried after him.

"No wait!" he shouted to whoever was coming in.  
  
The door swung open, and Gollum immediately came to a halt and screamed. The two garbage monsters standing before him screamed as well, then turned and ran back down the hall. In turn, Gollum spun back around, shooting past Sam, and dove under the couch. He peered out with two terrified-looking eyes that glowed white in the shadows.  
  
Frodo came out of his room suddenly. "What was that?"  
  
"Helpful," Sam replied, nodding at Gollum under the couch. "Just wait here." He went out into the hall.  
  
Merry and Pippin stood at the end of the hallway with their backs flat against the wall. They were filthy, looking like twin derelicts who had just wandered off the street. Sam squinted at them, not quite sure if he was really seeing what he thought he saw, and went up to them.  
  
"What in the Valor's name happened to you two?" he asked.  
  
"What's _he_ doing in there?" Pippin demanded, his eyes bulging as they remained glued to the apartment door.  
  
"It's a long story. I'll fill you in later," Sam said. "But what happened to you?"  
  
"Gimli went after us," Merry said, also gazing at the door. "He was throwing cabbages at us from his truck! He's lost his mind!"  
  
"Well I could've told you that," Sam pointed out. "Why was he chasing you?"  
  
"We don't know," Merry said, puzzled. "He just kept yelling that he was gonna get us and hang us up on a flagpole, and something about sewing Pippin's feet to his ears, but we didn't do anything to him. We were just standing outside the diner."  
  
"We had to dive into a dumpster to get away from him!" Pippin chimed in. "We think he's mad about the whole flowerpot incident, but we don't know."  
  
Sam sighed. "The old beach bum probably just got drunk again and didn't know what he was thinking."

He sniffed the air and cringed. "Uh! Get in the bathroom and hose that stuff off."  
  
"Oh no," Pippin said quickly. He inched closer to Merry. "I'm npt going in there with that _thing _lying in wait."  
  
"He's not 'lying in wait'," Sam said. "He's hiding under the couch, scared out of his wits; he saw _two_ monsters. Now get in there, unless you want to wait for Gimli to come home too."  
  
After some careful consideration, Merry and Pippin each decided they were willing to take their chances and go into the bathroom. They demonstrated their feelings on this by accelerating down the hall and cutting a left into the hobbits' apartment. A chorus of screams rose up, both Gollum and the hobbits, and was followed by the slamming of the bathroom door and Frodo's voice loudly demanding what his cousins had done to themselves.  
  
Sam shook his head. "Oh yeah," he said to himself. "This can't miss." He made his way down the hallway and into the room.  
  
This was going to be a long next couple of days.  
  
.........................................

(Updating soon. Any of you have friends who are also on Fanfiction.net? I'd like to get the word on my stories spread around a little.)


	8. Things Get Just a Little Worse

** What's Up Doc?**

********

It had been several hours until Gollum finally got up the nerve to crawl out from his hiding place under the couch. The two garbage monsters were hiding in their room, and Frodo was still there, so Fat hobbit probably wouldn't try to do anything too nasty to him.  
  
And so he spent the next hour or two crawling around the apartment, occasionally making note of devises that could be used to pick the lock on the door. For the most part though, he was just curious about all the funny- looking appliances, particularly the ones in the kitchen.  
  
"What's this one?" he asked, looking up oddly at a metal box on the counter.  
  
"It's a toaster," Frodo said from the couch.  
  
"What does it do?"  
  
"It toasts."  
  
"What does it make?"  
  
"Toast."  
  
Gollum cocked his head curiously, then climbed on top of the counter and began rooting through the cabinets. "Why does Fat hobbit keep weapons in its cabinets?"  
  
"Stay away from the knives, Smeagol," Frodo ordered, figuring the creature had stumbled across one in his search.  
  
Gollum frowned at the skillet hanging before him. It certainly didn't look like a knife, but what did he know about weapons anyway? He turned around and pulled open a drawer below him.  
  
Sam sat propped against the arm of his chair, lost in his note cards. The dinner party was only three days away, not counting today, and he still wasn't satisfied with his speech. Every time he read through it, something was wrong. It was always too long, or too serious, or too short and not serious enough. And he never knew what words to use in it. Should they be long, educated-sounding words or simple, laymen's terms? He wanted to scream half the time when he read it.  
  
His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of the doorknob being jiggled. Gollum pricked up expectantly at the rattling sound, but Sam hurried to get to the door first. He could have very easily let Frodo get it, but he also wanted an excuse to get away from his notes.  
  
"Who's there?" he asked.  
  
"Gimli," the familiar gruff voice responded. "Open the door. I wanna talk to Pippin."  
  
Sam exchanged a nervous glance with Frodo before opening the door half way. If anything, Gimli sounded sober now, but he wasn't taking any chances.  
  
"Pippin's not here right now, Gimli," he lied, sticking his head out into the hallway. "Why? What do you want?"  
  
Gimli sighed. "Alright. Here's the deal. Someone told me they saw Pippin knock that plant out the window. I've got to pay some money for the hospital bill, plus _nine hundred dollars_ for a new windshield on the Mustang, and I have no idea how I'm gonna pay."  
  
"And it's not really your Mustang, is it?" Sam said reprovingly.  
  
"It's my cousin Balin's," Gimli admitted. "He's out of town. His brother picked him up about a week ago, and the Mustang was still at his house. And well ... it's a real nice car..."  
  
"So you stole it?"  
  
"Borrowed it," Gimli corrected. "You know, just to take it for a spin, maybe pick up a few ladies, just for a day or two. I was going to refill the tank and put it back before he came home. He'd never know it was gone."  
  
Sam was far from amused. "And then Pippin dropped a flowerpot on it."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"So ... that's why you were throwing flaming cabbages at him from your truck this morning?"  
  
"You saw us?"  
  
"He told me," Sam said sternly. "You say this windshield is gonna cost you nine hundred to replace?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"How much for your hospital bill?"  
  
"Ninety-eight dollars."  
  
"And you want Pippin to pay for it all?"  
  
"Yes," Gimli said.  
  
Sam nodded. "Alright Gimli. I'll pay the hospital's bill since Pippin doesn't have two pennies to rub together, but I'm not paying to fix a car that you stole. You're gonna have to work that one out with your cousin."  
  
He went to close the door, but Gimli was quick, and placed his foot in the way. "No no no! You don't understand! Balin's gonna kill me if he finds out about this! He'll murder me! Mutilate me!"  
  
"He's not gonna kill you, Gimli. You mind?" Sam nudged Gimli's foot with his own. One smelly, half-crazed bum of a neighbor in his home was enough.  
  
The dwarf only tried to force his way in further. "No, I'm serious! He'll go ballistic over this! It's the third strike!"  
  
Sam looked shocked. "The third? Gimli, how many times have you stolen his car and not gotten caught?"  
  
"Well, you see, he didn't mean the third time I stole his car. Just the third time I did anything. I've done other stuff to him."  
  
"Like what?" Sam demanded.  
  
"Uh...actually, I really can't remember the first thing I did to him. I just know he ended up getting arrested for t. I kind of blacked out at the time. But I remember the second thing I did! He was uh, speaking at this wildlife conservation thing outside of Fangorn, and he wanted to wear this suit that he bought. And well, he let me do the laundry, and I put a little too much bleach in."  
  
"You dyed it white?"  
  
"Yeah. I mean, he was mad about it; he didn't have time to get something else, but that wasn't what got him really mad. You see, it was by _Fangorn_, and I guess some ents saw him giving this really dramatic speech, and the crowd was all cheering and stuff."  
  
Sam shrugged, not understanding. "So? What was the big deal?"  
  
Gimli looked down the hallway, holding his hands behind his back and kicking his feet. "Well, uh, you know how ents are. They're a little on edge these days, and ... well now they just go into a rampage every time they see a bearded guy dressed in white yelling at large groups of rowdy people. So ... Balin was kind of in the hospital for a few months. And now his windshield's been smashed, and it's the third strike."  
  
Sam shook his head stiffly, looking Gimli hard in the eye. He was a lot smaller than his neighbor, but he wasn't about to be swayed. "Well I'm not payin' for it. Now, if it was your car, I'd do everything I could to help, but it isn't, so I'm not. Now get your foot out of my door and go home."  
  
Gimli looked surprised at Sam's bluntness at first, but his expression hardened. "Alright, fine," he growled. "Be that way. But you're gonna regret it. Both of you! And tell that little Took that I'm getting him first! I'll get him! I'll make him pay for this one way or another! Nobody messes with a dwarf and expects to be let off easy!"  
  
He suddenly turned calm again. "Oh, and I wanted to return this also." He handed Sam a plunger. "See ya' later."  
  
"Yeah, see ya'," Sam said angrily, and slammed the door. He locked the door again, gritting his teeth.  
  
"Why doesn't fat hobbit have a label on its ice cream?" Gollum asked, peering inside the freezer.  
  
"It's _MORPHINE!!_" Sam bellowed, whirling around.

........................................... 

Soon to be updated...


	9. Reunions and Reasons

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

**What's Up Doc?**

Merry stared down at the tape in his hand. "This movie isn't going to be out in theaters for another two days."  
  
"So I was early," the orc grunted. He was sitting at a fold-up card table outside an old Glorfindel's restaurant.  
  
"But how can you bootleg a movie that isn't out yet?" Merry asked.  
  
"If I told you, I'd be out of a job now wouldn't I?"  
  
"I'm just asking: how is it even possible? How can you go to see a movie that won't be available to see for another forty-eight hours?"  
  
"Well, that's the trick of the trade isn't it?" the orc said snidely. "Now do you want it or not?"  
  
"No." Merry sat the tape back on the table and walked up to the door of the restaurant. He squinted inside, trying to spot Pippin. What was taking him so long?  
  
It was noon the next day, and the two hobbits—not wanting to be in their apartment in the event that Gimli should barge in with his axe—had gone out to get lunch. They'd decided on Glorfindel's Elvish food buffet, seeing how it was a considerable distance from the Shire Complex.  
  
However, they'd learned from the elf woman at the door that Merry had officially been banned from the restaurant on account of an incident he'd caused during a previous visit. So he was now standing outside, waiting for Pippin to come out with the food.  
  
The orc at the card table sat up suddenly as though something strange had just occurred to him. He turned in his chair to stare blankly at the hobbit.  
  
Merry saw this and stared back awkwardly. "...What?"  
  
The orc squinted at him, leaning forward. "You look familiar. Have we met?"  
  
"I ... don't think so." Merry stepped back.  
  
"Really. You look familiar," the orc insisted. He stood up and took a step forward. "You ever been to Mordor?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Isengard maybe?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Hmmm ... maybe somewhere in between?"  
  
Merry was growing uncomfortable, stumbling back to keep a good distance between them. "I really don't think we've ever met before Sir," he said.  
  
The orc looked puzzled for a moment, but an idea suddenly came to him. He came forward much quicker now with a dangerous glint in his eye. Merry stepped back again, suddenly alarmed.  
  
His assailant lashed out swiftly, knocking him flat on his back and pulling out a wicked-looking knife. Instinctively, Merry kicked out, hitting him square in the face with the ball of his foot. The orc flew back, knocking over his card table, then sat up.  
  
He was laughing.  
  
"I knew it was you!" he exclaimed, seemingly unaware of how profusely his mouth was bleeding. "You looked just like that the _last _time you kicked me in the face!"  
  
"You—" Merry stammered, speechless. "You're—"  
  
"It's me! Grishnakh!" the orc gasped in between breaths. He was bent almost in half from laughing. "Remember? I said I was gonna put a maggot hole in your belly!"  
  
"Oh ... oh yes."  
  
"At least I think my name's Grishnakh," he continued. "I can't really remember much of what happened before that tree stepped on me ... well ... except for you of course." He cackled again. "How you doing?"  
  
Merry was still in a daze. "Uh ... I'm ... good. You?"  
  
"Oh, the same old deal. You know how it is: you do what you can, take what you get, maybe cut off a limb or two, and you're through the day!"  
  
It was at this moment that Pippin came out. "Got the food," he said, adjusting his grip on the Styrofoam take-out box. He looked down at Merry oddly. "What happened to you?"  
  
"... And you're here too!" Grishnakh exclaimed, turning to Pippin. "How's it going with you?"  
  
Pippin just stared. Merry climbed to his feet and took the take-out box from him.  
  
"Uh, he's doing fine too. We're both doing just fine."  
  
"Who ..." Pippin began, confused.  
  
"This is Grishnakh," Merry said quickly, then mumbled. "You remember him."  
  
He put a hand on his cousin's shoulder and began to lead him back down the sidewalk the way they had come—away from Grishnakh.  
  
"And it was very nice to uh, see you again Grishnakh, but we really need to be going now, so we'll see you around."  
  
"Alright. You go," the orc said, waving them off with his hand. He laughed again. "But don't be strangers! You come back and see old Grishnakh when you have the time! I'll be right here! I'm not going anywhere!"  
  
"Yeah, we'll do that," Merry said, nodding back at him as he began walking faster.  
  
"I mean it; I'm not going anywhere! Where would I have to go?"  
  
Pippin waved goodbye, still confused. "Bye Grishnakh."  
  
"...Except maybe the movie theater," Grishnakh added, now talking to himself. "Alright, I'm not going anywhere _except _the movie theater! So if I'm not here, I'll be there!"  
  
Merry hurried around the bend, pulling Pippin along with him. "Come on!" he hissed.  
  
"What is going on?" Pippin demanded.  
  
"He recognized me when I kicked him in the face," Merry said stiffly. "I think he got bonked on the head pretty good in Fangorn."

"Maybe he's just happy to see us."

Merry shrugged. "Maybe. What'd you get?"  
  
"Nothing too much. Two Hün Guri sandwiches, a cram, and some lembas."  
  
"That's it? You were in there for half an hour!"  
  
"I got in an argument with the lady behind the desk. I couldn't understand her English and she over reacted. Yes, she _over_ reacted."  
  
They kept walking.  
  
"The way things've been going lately," Merry said to himself, "I'll probably never want to leave home again."

* * *

Sam should have known the minute he'd heard the knock at his office door that something had happened. He'd been so preoccupied with thoughts of the day's patients—the man in Post op, the elf with the broken leg, the dwarf who came in with his finger in a bag of ice—that he'd never stopped to wonder why anyone would be knocking at his door at this hour, so close to quitting time.  
  
"Come in," he called absent-mindedly as he flipped through his own issue of THE NATIONAL ENQUIERER.  
  
The door swung open, revealing the tall blonde-haired man in the hall. He had a grave look on his face as he stepped inside.  
  
"Hey, Eomer," Sam said, sitting his magazine down. "What do you want?"  
  
"Is this yours?" the Rohirrim demanded. He yanked a much shorter figure into the room with him. Sam recognized the old "I ♥ MT" t-shirt that Pippin had gotten at Minas Tirith with his battle armor. The shirt was two sizes too small, and the sight of it always made Pippin think of Denethor eating, so he'd gladly given it to Gollum to wear.  
  
Sam nodded. "Yeah, he's with me."  
  
"Good," Eomer said irritably. "Because he won't answer when I try to talk to him."  
  
"Smeagol has his rights," Gollum declared, folding his arms over his chest like a pouting five-year-old.  
  
"What happened?" Sam asked.  
  
"I found him in the waiting room," Eomer explained crossly, "with his head in the fish tank. Gamling said he came running through the cafeteria a few minutes earlier with a metal tray. Apparently, he knocked one of the doctors in the rehab center unconscious with it."  
  
"Cruel men cornered Smeagol with a nasty pointy thing," Gollum said to Sam. "They was being mean to us. It deserved to get knocked on the head."  
  
"Then they said he escaped and ran to the cafeteria," Eomer said.  
  
"Did he hit anybody else?"  
  
"No, but he stirred up quite a commotion. And all the fish in the aquarium are gone now too."  
  
Sam sighed heavily. "Lovely," he grumbled. "But I don't know what else to do with him. I can't watch him during the day." "Then get one of your friends to do it," Eomer scoffed. "He was being a nuisance even before the incident. They've all agreed up at the center; they don't want him coming back if there's somewhere else you can put him. Do you have any idea how big of a chaos he got started in the cafeteria? There's food everywhere! It's gonna take hours to clean that all up!"  
  
"Smeagol also threw up under your desk," Gollum added in a tone that sounded like pride.  
  
"You what?" Eomer looked horrified.  
  
Sam held up a hand. "Just leave him here and I'll take him home. My shift's almost over anyway."  
  
Eomer nodded, then hurried off in the direction of the waiting room. Apparently, cleaning his desk was much more important than cleaning the cafeteria. Gollum sat down on the floor, omitting a loud, familiar-sounding cough.  
  
Sam was far from happy. "Why would you do that?" he demanded. "Why do you always have to make a mess of things for people?"  
  
"We told it already: they was being mean to Smeagol, so we hit cruel man with nice big metal thing. And then we ran away and was feeling hungry, so we ate fishies. Smeagol meant no harm, no harm at all."  
  
"Oh, don't give me that," Sam said in disgust. He stood up from his desk and began walking around the room. "You know, I go to all this trouble to do this for you, I let you live in my apartment, I let you eat my food, I take you here to get help ... and you go and do something stupid like this!"  
  
Gollum shrank back a little at the hobbit's words.  
  
Sam angrily met eyes with the creature. "You really _are _hopeless!"  
  
"We hasn't been feeling like ourself lately," Gollum tried to explain. "We does these things, but we can't help it."  
  
"You can't help it?" Sam echoed, raising his eyebrows. "No, I guess you never could."  
  
Gollum grunted half-heartedly at him then looked away. Sam crouched down, making himself at the other's eye level.  
  
"Look, let's get something straight here, Stinker," he said. "You might not be aware of this, but I don't like you. Ok? I still think you're a sneaky, conniving, obnoxious little pain in the butt who's got nothing better to do with his time than drive everyone off the deep end."  
  
"Then why's it doing this to us?" Gollum sneered. "Why does nasty fat hobbit want to help a little sneak like Smeagol? _Gollum!_"

"Because Frodo was worried, alright?" Sam said impatiently. He stood up again.  
  
Gollum blinked. "What?"  
  
"He told me you weren't actin' right," the hobbit explained. "And he was really worried. And then he found those pills in your closet."  
  
"And he asked to borrow one," Gollum said quietly to himself. He looked up at Sam. "And he showed it to you?"  
  
"Yes. He said he didn't think you should be on them. I really didn't care what happened to you either way, at least not until he told me Wormtongue was your doctor. So I paid Wormtongue a little visit. Turns out the guy's just a crazy old egomaniac who only makes his patients do stuff because he can. I've got this thing called a conscience, see, so I started agreein' with Frodo on the whole deal."  
  
Sam sat back down at his desk. "He thought that something was wrong with you. Frodo likes you. Haven't the faintest idea why, but he likes you. He always did, but I don't suppose you ever cared enough to notice that."  
  
He'd looked hard at Gollum on the last statement, then resumed reading his magazine (at any rate, he was pretending to.) Gollum said nothing in response to this, but turned and huddled himself into the corner with his legs folded up in front of him. Resting his chin on his knees, he stared down at the floor.  
  
Seeing him, Sam started to feel a tad remorseful, but restrained himself for several minutes until he said, "Guess you ate a few bad fish out of that tank."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You threw up after you ate them, didn't you?"  
  
"No."  
  
"But you just told Eomer that you threw up under his desk."  
  
"Smeagol threw up _before_ he ate fish," Gollum said, then continued staring quietly at the floor.  
  
Sam was puzzled by this for a moment, but soon shook it off. The stinker probably just got worked up from all the excitement.  
  
He resumed reading THE NATIONAL ENQUIRER  
  
_ "Face of Richard Simmons Appears on West Virginia Man's Stomach"_, the article read. Sam turned the page curiously.  
  
................................................................................................

(Thought I should clear up why Sam's helping Gollum. You haven't seen the last of Grishnakh either.)  
  
(Also, as weird as it sounds, that headline is real, but it was from Weekly World News, and it's worded differently. Lol)


	10. Fun with Bacon

Disclaimer: Not mine.

**What's Up Doc?**

"Look, I need the money, ok?"  
  
"No. If I give some to you, then every other bum on the street will be chasing after me for loose change."  
  
"Oh, that's so typical of you elves! You always think you're so much better than everybody else!"  
  
"You're not really blind, are you?"  
  
Gimli blinked up at the elf through his Madonna-sized sunglasses. "What are you talking about? Of course I am," he said defensively. "I been blind since I was ten!"  
  
"Then how'd you know I was an elf?" she asked.  
  
"You uh ... you sound like one," Gimli said flatly. "Now give me the money! I won't tell anyone."  
  
"Fine. If it'll make you leave me alone." The light-haired she-elf frowned and handed Gimli a crumbled piece of money, then turned to leave. Gimli stared down at it in amazement.  
  
"Wow! A ten!" he exclaimed.  
  
The elf spun around angrily and snatched back the money. Again, she turned and stormed away down the sidewalk.  
  
Gimli cursed himself through clenched teeth and sat back down heavily in front of the drycleaners steps. That was as close as he'd come to getting money all day. Why did so many other people have to try the old "blind man" gig before he did? The thought made him want to scream again for dramatic purposes, but that would have only scared off other potential payers.  
  
Miserably, he pulled a pencil and small piece of paper from his back pocket. It was his list. He scratched out the words "blind man", which stood just below "tap dance" and "play kazoo." The dwarf was running out of ideas, and the number of days before Balin would return were rapidly decreasing. He needed that money.  
  
Gimli frowned at the next option on the list, but reluctantly pulled his arms into his tie-died shirt, leaving his empty sleeves hanging at his sides.  
  
"Could anybody spare some change?" he called out forlornly. "Just some little bit of change for a poor armless dwarf?"  
  
This was going to be a long evening.

* * *

Pippin flipped over another slice of bacon on the frying pan and turned to look at Merry. "Then what?"  
  
"Ok. So then he knocks me down, and he pulls out his knife."  
  
"Wait. You mean he was gonna kill you?"  
  
"Nah," Merry said, shaking his head. "I think he just wanted to see if I'd kick him again."  
  
"Well, at least he wasn't disappointed," Pippin commented.  
  
"Yes, that's the important thing, isn't it?" Merry said sarcastically.  
  
Pippin looked past Merry. "Is he still out there?"  
  
From where he stood, Merry could see Gollum through the large, glassless "window" in the kitchen wall. The thin creature was sitting in the living room with his back against the side of the couch, facing the kitchen. Unmoving, he hugged his folded legs against his chest with his chin resting on his knees.  
  
Merry nodded. "Yeah; he hasn't moved an inch."  
  
"He's been sitting there for two hours," Pippin said, glancing at the clock on the microwave. Quickly, trying not to be noticed, he stuffed a slice of bacon in his mouth. "Wonder what's up with him," he said in a muffled voice.  
  
"I'm not sure. He hasn't said a word since he came in. He looks depressed about something."  
  
"He always does."  
  
"I mean more than usual."  
  
Pippin shrugged. "Must miss his closet."  
  
He didn't particularly care if something was bothering the creature, just so long as it sat still. Pippin had hardly slept at all the night before; the thought of Gollum crawling around the apartment at night while they were all sleeping kept scaring him awake. He couldn't even recall the last time he'd sat on the couch, which Gollum would often be seen lurking under.  
  
"Or maybe Sam got to him about something," Merry suggested. "He didn't say anything either when they came home."  
  
"You think that's it?" Pippin looked up thoughtfully. "I dunno," he said to himself. "I can't really picture Gollum as a sensitive guy."  
  
His words were followed by a loud crunch.  
  
"Would you stop eating the bacon already?" Merry snapped, his voice a harsh whisper. "We're not gonna have any left."  
  
"Sorry." Pippin held out the remaining half of the slice in his hand. "Want this one?"  
  
Merry sighed, but took it anyway. He stared down at it for a second, and a curious look suddenly appeared on his face. His eyes strayed out the window.  
  
"Think he likes bacon?" he asked Pippin.  
  
"Who? Gollum?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
The younger hobbit shrugged again. "I guess. It's food."  
  
Merry crouched down slightly, as if Gollum were some temperamental oliphant, ready to charge if it saw him coming. "Guess it wouldn't hurt. He sure _looks _hungry."  
  
Pippin crouched down beside him. "Go ahead and throw it. See if he takes it."  
  
There was a brief pause, then Merry carefully tossed the slice into the living room, where it landed right at Gollum's feet. The old creature jumped, startled, then looked up at the two heads in the window. In response, Merry and Pippin ducked down out of sight.  
  
Gollum continued staring, waiting to see what they'd do, then looked annoyed. Sam's words back at the office really had upset him, leaving him sitting in his own personal little pile of guilt, but now these two nasty hobbits were trying to amuse themselves by toying with him like he was some kind of dumb animal. He looked down at the food, kicked it away angrily, then turned his back to the kitchen.  
  
Peeking out from the edge of the kitchen wall, Merry frowned at Gollum's reaction and turned to Pippin.  
  
"I don't think he likes bacon, Pip."  
  
"Try another piece. Maybe he just saw me take a bite out of it."  
  
Merry shook his head. "Nah. He's definitely upset about something. We should just leave him alone."  
  
"Well maybe some food'll make him feel better," Pippin suggested. Why not? It always worked for him, after all.  
  
He took a second slice off the frying pan, and without another word, threw it over his head like a grenade. Gollum spun around as he heard it land on the wooden floor behind him.  
  
There was a long silence, and neither of the two hobbits moved. Gollum sniffed down at the bacon, then looked up once again at his observers. "What is it?" he asked suspiciously.  
  
"It's bacon." Merry said, standing up a little. "Try it. It's really good."  
  
Gollum sniffed it again, then snorted. "It's cooked. Hobbitses ruined it."  
  
Merry looked over at Pippin. "Get the box. See if he'll eat a raw one."  
  
Pippin crawled over to the counter on his knees and peeled of an uncooked slice from the plastic. Again he threw it into the living room.  
  
Gollum stiffed at the raw slice, hesitated, then finally picked it up with his long fingers and began eating it.  
  
Merry and Pippin exchanged excited looks and stood up.  
  
"He likes it," Pippin said, grinning stupidly.  
  
"Give him another one!" Merry said. Pippin tossed Gollum a second raw slice, which the creature also picked up after sniffing it over. Forgetting his previous state of misery, Gollum scurried forward.  
  
In response, Merry and Pippin, suddenly remembering that they were scared out of their wits of Gollum, jumped back, yelping out in unison. Pippin quickly threw another slice. Gollum snatched it up and came closer.  
  
Pippin threw the fourth slice as far as he could, so far that it actually stuck to the living room wall. Gollum paused for a second, then raced across the room for it.  
  
Merry and Pippin exchanged looks again, and both broke out giggling idiotically.

* * *

Frodo stepped out of the elevator, lugging along his bag of groceries. He'd gone out about an hour ago to drop the hobbits' suits for the dinner party off at the drycleaners. When he'd arrived, he was greeted with the sight of Gimli trying to juggle three egg beaters, one of which he had borrowed from Sam a month ago, while playing the Superman theme on a portable stereo.  
  
Frodo had gone in and out as quickly as he could, then hurried to the super market as fast as he could without looking obvious.  
  
Laughing to himself as he recalled the incident, Frodo unlocked his apartment door and walked inside. There, he was greeted with another unusual sight: Merry and Pippin leaning out the kitchen's inside window, laughing and cheering wildly as they took turns throwing slices of bacon at an unusually excited-looking Gollum. Stepping inside, Frodo noticed that five strips were stuck to the wall. Two were on the ceiling.  
  
"Hey Frodo!" Pippin shouted. "Check it out! He loves this stuff!"  
  
Cautiously, Frodo made his way into the kitchen and sat his groceries on the counter. "He's not a dog," he said irritably.  
  
"I know, he's a shark!" Merry said, peeling off another slice. "Look at him go!"  
  
"Smeagol even caught one in his mouth!" Gollum chimed in. Another slice landed a meter to his left, and he dove after it madly.  
  
Frodo nodded slightly. "That's ... nice. Where's Sam? I dropped off the suits."  
  
Merry nodded towards the little hallway. "He's in his room. Probably working on his speech. Either that or sleeping."  
  
"Thanks." Frodo headed for his room. He stopped and looked at Gollum, who was now trying to peel off one of the slices on the wall. "Is that all that's left of the bacon?"  
  
"Yeah," Pippin nodded. "But I made some for dinner." He frowned down at the frying pan. "It's a little burnt, but it's edible."  
  
"I guess it's good enough," Frodo said. "How much did you make?"  
  
"Twelve, but I ate four, so we've got eight."  
  
"And you gave the rest of it to Smeagol?"  
  
"Yeah," Merry said, dumping the empty package into the wastebasket. "He really likes it. You should've seen him before; just sittin' in the corner lookin' depressed, and then we gave him some bacon and he was running around all excited."  
  
Frodo thought for a second, then shrugged. "I guess it wouldn't do anything to him," he said, and went into his room.  
  
.........................................................  
  
(Just to answer a question I received about the previous chapter, even if what Gollum did was a sign that he was recovering, Sam never really liked him to begin with. I think he expected Gollum to be a little more grateful (and as a result, much better behaved) about what he was doing for him.)


	11. Some Bad Side Effects

Disclaimer: Don't own LotR or Seinfeld.

**What's Up Doc?**

Night.  
  
The moonlight shown through the window of Grima "Wormtongue" Johnson III's dark office, illuminating the tan/orange "Return of the King" poster, which had the mad doctor's own face super-imposed over Aragorn's as he rode into battle.  
  
Wormtongue sat at his desk, waiting in silence as he gazed intensely at the door. He'd been waiting for several hours now, his twisted mind bent entirely on one single thing: the visit from his secretary, the woman behind the desk. 

The glow-in-the-dark Flaming Eye clock on his wall read 12:18 when she finally came knocking at his door. Without a word, he stood up and silently made his way to the door.  
  
"Who is it?" he said in a thin voice, peering out through the eyehole.  
  
Standing outside the door, his secretary waved at him through the eyehole. "It's me, Sir. I got the photos."  
  
"Well come in," Wormtongue said sternly, swinging open the door. His secretary hurried inside, pulling out a large manila envelope and sitting it on his desk.  
  
"I just took them this morning," she said. "I waited outside St. Radagast's like you said." Wormtongue sat back at his desk and opened the envelope. Inside were a half-dozen photos, which he began to sort through.  
  
"He looked like the one who came in yesterday," the woman said, absent-mindedly scratching her self. "Anyway, the frog's with him."  
  
"That sneaky little two-faced halfling!" Wormtongue growled as he looked at a picture of Sam attempting to pull a wild-eyed Gollum out of the back seat of the C-Bird. He flipped over to the next photo, which showed the hobbit on all fours, trying to coax his patient out from under a street corner mailbox. "I warned him to mind his own business!"  
  
His secretary stepped back slightly. "Should I wait for him again tomorrow?"  
  
Grima Wormtongue threw the pictures down on his desk and stood up quickly. "No. I've seen enough already. How many patients am I seeing tomorrow?"  
  
"Twenty."  
  
"Try to squeeze them into the others' schedules. I won't be here."  
  
With that, he stormed out his office door. He stopped in the hallway and turned to meet his secretary's gaze. "I'm going to pay Doctor Smith a little visit."  
  
The woman nodded. "Yes Sir."

* * *

There was something about that third bacon and Sno Cap sandwich he'd eaten that wasn't settling well with Pippin. He lay on his side in the top bunk, facing the wall as he tried to ignore the knot in his stomach and go to sleep. He seemed to be concentrating heavily on this, appearing deep in thought as he closed his eyes and curled into a ball.  
  
So deep in thought was he that he didn't even hear the creaking of his bedroom door opening. Nor did he hear the sound of footsteps on the ladder beside him.  
  
He did, however, hear the raspy, labored sound of breathing behind him, though he was too drowsy to identify who it was. Assuming it was only Merry, who slept in the bunk below him, Pippin rolled over and lazily opened his eyes.  
  
And suddenly, he was quite awake.  
  
"AAAAAAAHHH!" Pippin screeched and leapt back, hitting the back of his head on the wall. "Get away from me!"  
  
Perched at the top of the ladder, Gollum only stared.  
  
Pippin took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his throbbing head, and said in a somewhat calmer voice, "Go on. Back into the living room."  
  
Gollum continued to stare.  
  
Pippin twitched slightly, his eyes widening nervously. "You heard me. Go back under the couch." There was no response. "Go away!" he shouted.  
  
But still, Gollum continued to stare with glowing eyes as he hunched over at Pippin's bedside.  
  
For a while, Pippin stood still, catching his breath as he watched the gaunt figure sitting before him. So eerie Gollum looked, as unmoving as a statue and hardly making a sound. His lamp-like eyes were unblinking, gazing fixedly at ...  
  
Pippin stopped in mid-thought suddenly. Was Gollum even looking at him? The creature looked like he was staring at something past the hobbit. Couldn't he see him? Was it too dark?  
  
It took him several minutes to gather up his courage, but Pippin managed to extend an arm towards Gollum, quickly waving his hand in the creature's face.  
  
Gollum continued to stare.  
  
A look of perplexity appeared on Pippin's face, and he began laughing. Gollum was asleep.  
  
Below him, Merry stirred and opened his eyes. "Pippin?" he called out groggily. "What's so funny?"  
  
"He's sleep-walking!" Pippin said quietly, still laughing.  
  
"What? Who's sleep-walking?"  
  
Merry's head appeared out from the shadows and looked up at the top bunk.  
  
Pippin couldn't see his cousin from where he sat, but heard the rustling of sheets below him, followed instantly by a loud thump as Merry hit the floor.

* * *

They sat out in the little hall, peering inside the room at Gollum, still seated atop the bunk bed ladder.  
  
"I don't get it," Pippin whispered. "He wasn't sleep-walking last night. I know Frodo said he used to have insomnia, but he never said anything about this."  
  
"Maybe he's getting it back," Merry suggested lamely. "I mean, it's been two days now. He's probably just going back to normal."  
  
"Or maybe it's from the bacon," Pippin said with a laugh.  
  
Merry rolled his eyes at the thought. "The bacon. Yeah, that'd be a good one. He sleep-walks when he eats ba—" He sat up straight. "That's it!" he whispered loudly. "It's the bacon!"  
  
Pippin blinked. "It is?"  
  
"It'd have to be! He's never had it before, right? It's probably got some sort of side effect on him."  
  
"Like how I always have dreams about cave trolls when I eat hoagies?" Pippin asked curiously.  
  
"Exactly like that," Merry said, grinning. "Maybe we can lure him out with the rest."  
  
Pippin shook his head. "There isn't any left. He ate it all."  
  
Merry frowned. "Oh. Well ... what about fish? Do we have any fish?"  
  
"We've got those month-old fish sticks in the freezer," Pippin said, shrugging. "Think he'd go for 'em?"  
  
"It's worth a shot." Merry staggered to his feet. "C'mon. The sooner we get him out of there, the better."  
  
Pippin nodded in agreement, then stumbled forward in the direction of Merry's voice.

* * *

"But what about tomorrow?" Frodo asked over the phone. "What're we gonna do with him when we leave?"  
  
"Well, I don't know anyone who could watch him. Certainly not Gimli," Sam said. He was in his office, talking to Frodo over the phone as he sat behind his desk and paged absent-mindedly through his cards (which by now were so thoroughly covered with red ink corrections that they appeared to have been stabbed.) "But he's going back to normal, anyway. We should be able to just leave him there by himself. With the door locked, of course. I don't want him getting' out and running around like yesterday."  
  
"Yeah, but Sam, this party's gonna be, what, seven to twelve?" Frodo asked. "Smeagol's bound to do something; you know, being off his medication and everything. And he knows where we keep all the knives."  
  
Sam frowned. "Well what's that stinker do in his closet all day? This shouldn't be any different. Except for him being a little crazier than usual."  
  
"He never really does anything. I think he sleeps all day. Either that or he watches movies."  
  
"Then tell him to watch 'Titanic' or something longer if you can find anything. That way he won't go around eating paint chips or whatever."  
  
"It's worth a shot."  
  
Sam sat back in his chair. "How's he doin' anyway?"  
  
As if in respond to this question, a loud _BLOARGH!_ sound could be heard from the other end of the phone. Sam heard Frodo shouting at someone across the room.  
  
"No! Not on the carpet! Use the waste basket!"  
  
_BLOARGH!  
_  
"There you go."  
  
Frodo came back on the phone. "It's hard to say. He's acting pretty normal. Well, I mean normal for Smeagol. But every now and then he just sort of ... well ... does stuff."  
  
"Did he just throw up on the new carpet?" Sam said impatiently.  
  
"Three times," Frodo confirmed. "Twice, actually. The first time was in the kitchen."  
  
"Oh that's lovely," Sam grumbled.  
  
"I don't know what's wrong with him. He looks fine. Temperature's alright. I guess he just can't hold his bacon."  
  
"Or his liquor," Merry's voice commented from far off.  
  
"Nah, I don't think it's that," Sam said. "He said he threw up yesterday too. I didn't pay it any mind though."  
  
"What do you think it is?"  
  
"I'm not sure; probably withdrawal. Three times would be a bit much for a stomachache. Just keep him off the carpet."  
  
There was a knock at the door.  
  
"Just a second, Frodo." Sam sat the phone on his desk and asked who was at the door.  
  
"It's Hama. Haldir sent me," the man's voice responded. Sam got up and opened the door, wondering why his boss would send anyone to his office, especially at this hour.  
  
Hama looked down at him. "Morning, Doctor Gamgee. You're the one who took that morphine home last week, aren't you?"  
  
Sam's eyes strayed down to the round cardboard container that Hama held in one hand. It looked like a jar of ice cream.  
  
"... Why?"  
  
..............................................  
  
(Things are less great now. Please R&R.)


	12. An Unexpected Visit

(Sorry it took me so long to update. This stupid site wouldn't let me indent the paragraphs or anything to set up the format. I hope it's worth the wait.)

**What's Up Doc?**

The black mini-van pulled over to the curb, coming to a stop in front of an old Tudor-styled house at the end of the street. The door swung open, and out stepped Balin, lugging his leather suitcase along behind him.

"Thanks for the lift, guys," he called back to Dwalin and a handful of other dwarves in the van. His brother waved in return, and sped off once more.

Rather than go to all the trouble and dig up his keys, Balin decided it would be easier to just go inside through the garage. His mailbox was right next to it anyways.

Peering inside the white bin, he frowned at the stack of bills and advertisements that greeted him. Not something he wanted to come home to after a week of sitting on the beach and listening to football games on the radio. Balin pulled out the wad of letters and punched his code into the garage door opener. Slowly, it opened.

And Balin froze, dropping his mail in shock.

His garage looked the same as it had the day he'd left. His red toolbox sat out on the workbench ahead of him, the junk-filled shelves hung on the wall to his left, the wooden cabinets to his right along with a handful of various-sized cardboard boxes, as well as a small screen door.

But his car, his red 1989 Mustang convertible with retractable roof, was gone. Hesitantly, he stepped inside the garage, looking around as if he expected to find the car hiding behind something.

"My car..." he said to himself in dismay. "What ... it was in here when I left. Did I close the garage door? Yes. I did. My car..." He looked around outside, now on the verge of panicking, possibly even saying something R-rated. "Where is my car?"

He took in a deep breath, trying to contain himself, but like any dwarf, he only succeeded in making himself angrier. His Mustang was gone. Stolen. It must have been stolen. He'd closed the door. He'd closed it! He knew he'd closed it! But how did the culprit get inside then? The door hadn't been broken, it hardly had a scratch, aside from the ones he'd put there! The culprit must have known the combination! Which meant he must have known the culprit. But who was it? And what had they done with it? Where was his mustang now?

Balin's eyes darted around the street outside, hoping to find it parked by a curb somewhere. Of course it wasn't, but he was beyond reasoning at the moment. His car. His brand-new, though technically already used, car. Gone.

Uneasy, he opened the door to his basement and went inside. It was obvious that the Mustang had been stolen. It was nowhere in his neighborhood, and he knew for a fact that he'd had it locked away.

He'd have to contact the authorities on this one.

* * *

"Sam?" Frodo spoke into the receiver. There was no response. "Sam?"

He paused foe a second, and then heard the familiar buzzing sound as the lines were disconnected. Sam had hung up on him.

"Sam!" Frodo spoke loudly, but he was too late. Aggravated, he hung the phone back on the wall and looked around the room, sighing.

Gollum lifted his head from the wastebasket and looked up at him with wide zombie-like eyes. "What did Fat Hobbit say?"

"He thinks you might be going through withdrawal. He's not possitive, but he did say you got sick yesterday too."

"Withdrawal?" the hobbit-like creature repeated. He wasn't entirely possitive what the word meant, but it certainly didn't sound good. "Maybe Smeagol should take pillses then. Master and Fat Hobbit not wanting Smeagol to make a mess on their nice floorses, does they, Precious?" He arched his back suddenly and coughed. "_Gollum! Gollum!_"

Frodo just rolled his eyes.

There was a knock at the door just then, ending their little exchange. "Delivery!" a voice shouted from the hallway.

Frodo was hesitant. The voice didn't sound like Gimli's, but it still seemed suspicious. What delivery? Sam hadn't ordered anything that he could think of.

He looked over at Gollum. "Just stay in the kitchen. And hold on to that wastebasket." He went to the door.

"Who is it?" he asked cautiously, trying to look out through the peephole. His attempt was in vain though; all he could see outside was the person's chest. At least he knew it wasn't Gimli.

"Delivery," the voice said again. "We got a call from here last night ordering a microwave oven."

"Microwave oven?" Frodo echoed oddly. He undid the latch on the door, opening it carefully. "We never ordered a ... _Legolas?!_"

The tall Mirkwood elf, clad in a pale blue UPS suit and cap, looked down at him with equal surprise. "Frodo!"

"What are you doing here?" Frodo asked, shocked. "And ... and what are you doing wearing _that_ thing?"

"This?" Legolas tugged at his button-down shirt. "It's my uniform. I'm a postal worker."

"Why? I thought you were in Mirkwood."

"Hey, I've got a life outside the palace," Legolas said defensively. "And I get around quite a bit. This isn't exactly a local job, you know."

"Well yeah, but don't people follow you around? The city's crawling with tabloid writers." He thought for a moment. "Not to mention the occasional wacko just trying to get on the news."

"Hence the 'disguise.'" The elf said dryly. "I don't think a UPS worker's going to turn too many heads. But what are you doing here? I thought you moved out west."

"It didn't really work out as well as I'd hoped," Frodo said with a shrug. "Come on in. I don't like keeping the door open for too long."

The elf followed him inside, squatting slightly so as to avoid putting a hole in the ceiling. He glanced up warily as he continued forward.

"So what's the microwave for?" Frodo asked, keeping himself positioned between his guest and the kitchen.

"You ordered it last night. Well, not you, but someone from here." Legolas sat the large white box on the coffee table.

Frodo looked at it oddly. "When?"

Legolas shrugged. "Around 3:00 AM. I don't know who it was."

Frodo looked over his shoulder and called Merry and Pippin's names. Their heads each appeared in the doorway of the little hall.

"What?" Merry asked, then brightened. "Hey! Lego! What're you doing here?"

"At present, trying not to add a second hole into your ceiling," the elf said in his usual cool tone.

"Yeah, that," Merry commented. "You'd think Gandalf would have remembered to duck by now. The patching's a little off color, but it still works."

"It's certainly better than the hole," Pippin added.

"Were you guys on the phone last night?" Frodo asked, returning to the topic at hand.

"No. Why?"

"It didn't sound like either of them," Legolas explained. "It sounded ... kind of older. Sort of nasal, raspy too."

"Master?" Gollum's head peeked out through the kitchen "window". "What does Smeagol do if bucket's full?"

"Him," Legolas said, pointing. With a surprised "What?", all three hobbits' heads turned to Gollum, who looked back in confusion.

"You ordered a microwave?" Frodo asked in a baffled, slightly irritated tone.

"No we didn't." Gollum looked totally clueless.

"What do you mean you didn't? Legolas recognized your voice."

"Seriously! We didn't do it, Precious. We doesn't even know how to use the phone!"

"Well then why'd he hear your voice?"

"We doesn't know. Maybe we forgots we did it, Precious."

Frodo blinked, currently not amused. "You don't remember," he echoed sarcastically. "How could you not remember? What, were you sleeping or something?"

Pippin went cold as he looked up blankly in sudden realization. Merry shifted his eyes awkwardly over to him.

"That ... uh ... might be it, Frodo," he said stiffly.

Frodo looked over at him. "What?"

Merry scratched the back of his neck, focusing on the floor. "Well uh, you see ... there was kind of a ... little uh, occurrence you might say, last night."

"What happened?"

"Well uh, Pip, you saw it before I did." Merry elbowed his cousin, who reluctantly continued the story.

"Well, we're not entirely sure what did it," he started, "We think it was the bacon, but he came in our room last night."

"No we didn't," Gollum said.

"—Only he wasn't awake," Pippin finished.

There was a moment of silence, then Frodo's eyes widened as the answer dawned on him. "... You mean he was _sleep-walking?_"

"More or less," Merry said, bobbing his head slightly. "We didn't try to wake him, though. We kind of ... lured him out. We used the fish sticks. He walked right out."

"Yeah, and then we put the rest in a pile so he'd stay in the living room and eat them," Pippin added.

"Where'd you put them?" Frodo asked.

"By the wall. It was kind of dark, though."

"I think it was somewhere between the kitchen and the bathroom," Merry said. Pippin crouched down, squinting at the carpet.

"Here," he said suddenly, pointing. He looked up at the wall before him. "We put them right—" He froze.

Frodo frowned. "In front of the phone."

"We _sleep-walks?_," Gollum demanded, now glaring angrily at Frodo. "Why didn't nasty hobbitses ever tells us?"

"You never did!" Frodo said. "You never even slept!"

Gollum was about to say something else, but the sick look returned to his face, and he ducked back down out of sight, omitting another _BLOARGH!_ sound.

Pippin grimaced and stood up.

Still ducking down, and feeling just a tad bit awkward at the moment, Legolas looked over at Frodo. "I don't suppose you'll be wanting this then, will you?" He reached out and put a hand on the box.

"No. We can't afford to keep it."

"If you don't have the money, I could just let you keep the microwave for free."

Frodo shook his head. "No really. We don't want it."

"But I already told my boss that I was getting rid of it," Legolas persisted. "We've been trying to sell this thing for three months!"

"Nobody's ever wanted it?" Merry asked, raising his eyebrows.

"No. Including my boss."

Frodo scratched his head. "Well ... I guess we could hold on to it for a while. We could try to give it to one of the neighbors."

Legolas looked over at him. "Could you? That would mean a lot to us."

"Of course. Even if they don't want it, ours is liable to get broken anyway."

"Great! I'll see you around then." With that, Legolas turned and headed back for the door. "I've got more stops to make. Say hi to Sam for me."

"See ya, Lego," Merry said, waving good-bye.

The elf stepped back into the hallway, gladly rising once more to his full height, and closed the door behind him.

Pippin looked down at the box on the coffee table. "Now what do we do?"

Frodo looked around the room. "We hide it before Sam gets back."

.........................................

Sam'll be back next chapter. I promise.

And just to answer a frequently asked question, Sam wants Gollum off the pills because he thinks they're harmful. He isn't positive, though. He just knows that when he went to talk to Wormtongue about it, he wasn't getting a very straight answer. And Wormtongue's half-insane. So basically, he doesn't think anything good could come out of just forgetting about it. Even if Gollum is a pain in the butt, he'll be a healthy one at least.

Sorry about that. I thought I'd explained it clearly enough in the story.


	13. Things Just Keep Getting Better

(Sorry about all the delays. It's just been one thing after another with my computer. I'll try to turn up the next couple chapters a little quicker.)

**What's Up Doc?**

Late that morning, Gimli found himself in front of the Pharmacy, no less desperate to collect money than he'd been the day before. Unfortunately, he was also no closer to making the nine hundred dollars, and was starting to run out of ideas. Apparently—as he'd discovered after the third hour of tap-dancing and singing various Mariah Carey songs—people were just as difficult to impress on this side of the street as they were on the other.

­But he wasn't completely without hope; the dwarf had been smart enough to plan ahead for his collecting, saving a few secret weapons for when production would start to slow down. So far, he'd used all of them but one, and he needed it now more than ever. And so this morning before leaving for "work", Gimli had taken it upon himself to call upon the power of his greatest ally:

The little orange banjo.

"Hi ho, hi ho!" he half sang, half shouted to the various passers-by. About an hour ago, a young hobbit lad had told him to play the song, saying that people like Gimli looked good singing it. The boy said it was from some movie, "The Seven Dwarves," he believed. Figuring it was some folksong of yore written to honor the Seven Dwarf Lords, Gimli decided to take up the suggestion. The only problem was that he knew none of the words, with the exception of two.

"Hi ho, hiho, hi ho! Hi ho, hi ho, hi ho, hi ho, HI HO! Hi ho, hi ho, hi ho!"

"Get a job, you dork!" a man shouted, leaning out his car's window as he drove by. Gimli sighed and hung his head. Now he was completely without hope.

He watched as the man's car made a left and disappeared behind a nearby garage.

That was when he caught sight of the black mini-van.

It pulled up to the curb by the auto shop, coming to a halt beside a parking meter. The passenger's door opened.

And out stepped Balin.

Gimli froze, horrified.

Fortunately, his cousin couldn't see him from across the street, and turned and went inside the garage, followed by Dwalin. It was all over, now. Balin knew what had happened to the car.

Gimli rose to his feet, looking like he'd seen a "closed" sign hanging in the Old Toby's window. He was dead. Dead meat. A walking dead dwarf. A dead dwarf that walked. Even though he was dead.

He stared at the door to the auto shop, letting this fact sink in, then picked up his orange banjo and took off running.

_"I'm gonna get you, Pedegrim Tug!"_ he shouted at the top of his lungs, and rounded the corner of the dry cleaner's, unaware of the people behind him cheering that the singing had finally stopped.

* * *

Sam looked horrified. "No."

"Look, I know it's a lot to ask, but we've got nowhere else to put it," Hama explained. "By the time the coolers broke down, it was too late to cancel the order, and we want to keep the supply all together."

"But I can't keep _two_ cases of morphine in my freezer!" Sam said, raising his voice slightly. "I'm lucky I still have the first one!"

"I understand that," Hama said reasonably, "but there's nothing else we can do about it. Honestly, I had no idea this case was coming in today."

Sam shook his head. "I can't take it home. I just can't."

Hama looked at him curiously. "Why not?"

Sam looked like Hama had just told him a joke. "Why not?" he echoed. "Alright."

He stood up and began pacing. "I've got three roommates, Hama. Three roommates, and a binge-drinking dwarf neighbor who mooches food and laundry detergent off of me every day, and _might_ even be plotting to kill one of my roommates and me, not to mention a Celexa addict who_ has_ plotted to kill one of my roommates and me; and ten liters of morphine that I have to leave alone with them all day. Now," he turned to meet Hama's eye. "Do you really want me to add ten _more_ liters on top of that?"

"Well, yes," Hama said, wondering if he should believe the hobbit's mini-speech or not. "But only for a couple days," he added quickly. "Two days tops, and then I swear, you can bring it back here."

Sam sighed, defeated, and made his way back to his chair. "Two days?"

"Just two. Look, I know this is a real hassle, and believe me; I'm no fan of it either. I've got fifteen liters of rattlesnake antidote at home and two kids who never stop asking questions about it. But it'll all be over in two days, and we'll probably never see any of these supplies again."

Sam rubbed his temple and sighed again. "Fine. But tell Haldir that I warned you. You're probably not going to get both cases back."

"I'll be sure to tell him that," Hama said awkwardly, nodding. He got up and went to the door. "See you tomorrow at the dinner," he said, and was gone.

For a moment, Sam stared at the closed door, playing the conversation over in his head. He probably could've been a little more polite, at least a little more in control, but decided that he'd had the right to speak that way, considering the events of that past week.

Then his eyes drifted back to the red and white cooler on his desk; the second case of morphine.

"This just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?" he murmured, then sat back in his chair.

* * *

For Eomer, the day began like any other: he got up, ate breakfast, went to work, and argued with the cleaning woman about whether or not Twix was better than Snickers. The atmosphere of the waiting room was much more peaceful today, and the smell of vomit was almost completely gone from his desk.

And then 1:15 came around, and _he_ arrived.

Eomer actually smelled him before he saw him; the man stank from mold and days without bathing. For a split second, he thought he recognized the smell, but pushed the notion aside. It couldn't be.

And then the man walked inside, and Eomer's fears had been confirmed.

Wormtongue was equally shocked to see the blonde Rohirim man seated behind the desk. "Eomer?" he asked, dumfounded.

"Grima," Eomer said back, nodding curtly.

"What're you doing here?" Wormtongue asked, regaining his senses.

"I work here," Eomer said sharply. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I need to see one of your doctors. A Doctor Samuel Smith."

Eomer looked him over once more, then warily looked down at his computer monitor. "That name doesn't really come to mind, but I'll see if he's in."

Wormtongue nodded and cautiously stepped up to the desk. Eomer scanned the list of names, watching Grima's pasty white face in the corner of his eye.

A few seconds passed, and Wormtongue began to feel uncomfortable. He studied Eomer's stone face, hesitated, then spoke in his friendliest tone.

"So ... how's your sister?"

Eomer stopped reading, and focused his gaze on the other man. Then coolly, he turned in his chair to face him. "Do you remember what the judge decreed, Grima?"

"That I'm not allowed within five feet of you," Wormtongue responded calmly.

Eomer lowered his head slightly and raised his eyebrows, silently telling him to continue.

"...Or anyone else in your family," Wormtongue finished.

"Including my sister," Eomer said stiffly, and began typing. "And for your information, she's married."

"Oh." Wormtongue said, a slightly surprised—and disappointed—look on his face. "To who?"

"A man," Eomer said, knowing all too well what the sniveling wretch might attempt to do if he had the right information.

"A man," Wormtongue echoed. "Well. That's good. What does he do?"

"He works."

"Where does he work?"

"In a building."

Wormtongue looked at the top of the desk, contemplating his next words. He looked back up at Eomer.

"And ... how are things working out between them?" he asked. Eomer turned slightly to give him an unfriendly sideways glance.

"I mean, _are_ things working out? They're happy? I mean, she hasn't called you up about anything lately, has she?"

Eomer only stared back at him, completely silent, for what felt like a whole minute. Then calmly—but swiftly—he leaned down over his desk and pushed a round green button.

"Haldir?" he called into a speaker beside it. "This is Eomer. I've got a patient in here who's having some difficulty functioning. He's standing in front of my desk. He's delirious. I need you to get him into a room right away."

"I'm on my way over," Haldir's voice confirmed.

Wormtongue's expression was one of total shock as Eomer returned to his typing. Almost instantly, Haldir came into the waiting room, accompanied by an elf with chestnut-brown hair. They each grabbed one of the unruly man's arms and began to lead him into the hallway.

"Wait!" Wormtongue shouted. "There's nothing wrong with me! I'm a doctor! I'm with you guys!"

"Yes you are with us," Haldir said serenely, proceeding to drag his new patient down to the south wing.

Eomer calmly finished his typing, looked at the schedule on his desk, then gazed up at the crowd of astonished faces seated before him.

"Next," he called out.

Soon to be updated...


	14. Everything's Taken Care Of

(Disclaimer: Own nothing.)

**What's Up Doc?**

"Ugh," Dwalin grunted. "I forgot how bad these places smelled."

"Well, not taking your vehicle to a shop for twenty years will do that to you," Balin pointed out casually.

"Hey, they already got my five bucks," Dwalin defended. "I'm on to them, and I ain't trusting any of 'em with anything that cost more than my dishwasher."

"Can I be of help to you two sirs?" a wide-eyed, wide-girthed man asked awkwardly from behind him. Balin quickly stepped forward before his brother could shout out an answer for him.

"Yes, actually. My car went missing recently and the police said they saw a tow truck bring it here. It's a red mustang. License plate says "BD1–32K."

"Would that be the one with the 'I'm King Of Moria So You Can Kiss My Arse' bumper sticker?" the man asked.

"…Possibly."

"It's over here."

The man calmly led them across the room and through a wide doorway near the back of the shop. Dwalin glanced suspiciously into the corners and at any closed door, prepared for a possible sudden swarm and bombardment of air fresheners (or whatever those apprehensive little pine trees _really _were). He'd experienced so inhumane an incident more times than he would have liked, another reason he avoided the auto-shop.

Balin also looked around oddly, sniffing. "What's that smell?" he asked.

"Ah yes," the man said, then pointed. "Your car's sittin' right over that ways."

Following his direction, Balin looked to the left near the shop's side window. Sure enough, there stood the mustang, still cleaned, still waxed, still in perfect condition, but with one small difference.

No windshield.

"What the…" Balin came towards it, arms extended slightly as he tried to piece together an intelligent sentence. "What … what _happened _to it? Where's the windshield?"

"It was smashed when they brought it in. Quite a mess it was, and dangerous too. All the broken glass. We had to take the whole thing off. I know it ain't much of a sight without the windshield, but we're still waitin' for the payment for a replacement."

"Payment?" Balin echoed, looking up at the man. "Who's paying for it?"

The man shrugged. "Well, I've never actually seen the likes of 'im, but they say a strange lookin' little man with a big red beard's been comin' in and out for the last few days to check up on it. My boss says he's seen 'im out across the street from here singing and doing other things for money."

"Probably some homeless bum," Balin grumbled. "But why would he be paying for a windshield?"

"Ugh!" Dwalin wrinkled his nose. "What's that smell?"

"We don't know," the man said, exhausted from this frequently-asked question. "It keeps getting worse every day. We have to keep it in a separate room now!"

"Oh man!" Dwalin held his thick beard over his nose and fanned the air in front of him. "How could anything _smell_ this bad?"

"How'd it get that way?" Balin commented, taking a closer sniff at the mustang. "It never smelled like this when I had it."

"We 'aven't got the slightest idea."

"You need a priest to get rid of this!" Dwalin commented loudly. "It smells like warm beer with rotten vegetables soaking in it!"

Balin nodded in agreement, then stopped. He looked over at his brother suddenly. "What was that?"

"What?"

"What you just said."

"Yeah. I said it smells like warm beer with rotten vegetables soaking in it."

Balin looked deep in thought. "Vegetables … vegetables … of course!"

"What?" the man asked.

"Vegetables!" Balin growled. "Cabagges! Cabbages!"

"Cabbages?"

"Where is he? I'm gonna kill him! I'll kill him!" The enraged dwarf spun around now, face beat-red, and ran out of the room. "I'm gonna kill him!"

"Hey wait!" Dwalin shouted and hurried after him. He stopped at the doorway and turned back to the man quickly. "You better get that smell out, burley man."

"It's pronounced Barlimen," the man corrected.

"Oh. …so it is," Dwalin observed, noticing the nametag. "Ok." He turned and ran. "Balin! Hey Balin! Wait up!"

"_I'm gonna kill him!"_

"Queer folk they are, those dwarves," Barlimen muttered to himself, shaking his head. "Queer folk indeed."

………………………………….

"More morphine?!" Frodo asked, shocked.

Sam nodded his head and went into the kitchen. "Yep. He just came into my office with it and told me I had to take it."

"Why you?"

"Because_ I_," Sam pointed to himself with his thumb, "am the _morphine_ guy. And the _morphine_ guy has to keep all the morphine. The head doctor doesn't keep it. The owner of the hospital doesn't keep it. The _morphine _guy does!"

"Where'd they get the second one from?" Merry asked, getting up from the couch.

"They ordered in late and they couldn't cancel it." Sam flung open the freezer door and reached in to clear a spot. "They had nowhere else to put it."

"Did they say how long you're keeping it?" Frodo asked.

"They think the storage rooms'll be ready in a few days." He pulled out an ice tray, which appeared to be filled with frozen mushrooms rather than ice; each one decked off with a tiny Hawaiian drink umbrella sticking out of the top.

"Can I take these out?" he asked Pippin.

"Sure." Pippin got up quickly and went over to Sam, taking the tray and sitting it on the table.

"And this?" Sam held up a large yellow action figure.

"Mr. Peanut!" Merry exclaimed, recognizing the trademark top hat and monocle. He hurried over and took it from Sam. "I was wondering what happened to him!"

"Exactly how long is a few days?" Frodo asked.

"A few days," Sam said, and squared his shoulders as he prepared to shove the morphine into its limited freezer space. "Maybe two. Or three. I tried to get out of taking it, but Hama gave me some big speech about how it'd be over real soon. I would've felt like a jerk all day if I'd told him no, so now I'm stuck with this thing!"

Pippin frowned and looked down in thought.

"It's not that bad, Sam," Merry tried to convince him. "I mean, nothing's happened to the first one. I'd say it's in pretty good hands."

Sam sighed. "I guess so. But It just kills me how every time something happens, I can never just sit back and say 'at least it can't get any worse' and really be sure about it. For all I know, I'll walk out the door tomorrow and find ten more liters sitting in the hallway. It _always_ can get worse!"

"What're hobbitses yelling about, Precious?" Gollum asked as his head emerged from the little hallway. "Did nasty Fat Hobbit have a bad day, my Precious? Comes home and yells and curses and is mean to nice Master, is it? So rude, oh yes, so very rude and not nice it is indeed! _Gollum! Gollum!_"

"I rest my case," Sam said, pointing at the skinny creature. He pushed the new case of morphine inside, then shut the freezer door and made his way to his chair. "So how'd it go with you guys today?"

Frodo exchanged wary glances with Merry and Pippin before speaking.

"Oh … you know… same old thing," he said indifferently.

………………………………..

Pippin pulled the last "Shroom-sickle" off of its umbrella and popped it into his mouth, chewing it carefully and sticking the tiny blue decoration into his hair alongside five others. He picked his flashlight back up and began scanning over the next page of his newspaper.

"I think I found something, Pip," Merry whispered from the bottom bunk.

Pippin looked like some strange robotic creature with six brightly colored satellites growing out of its head as he squatted on all fours to looked down at his cousin below him.

"What?" he asked, squinting down through the darkness.

"There's a big flea market going on all this week," Merry explained. "Looks like some school carnival or whatever. Open 8: 00 in the morning to 10: 00 at night. All household items, appliances and furniture welcome for sale."

"So they'll take the microwave?"

"It says 'all appliances.'"

Pippin let out a mental sigh of relief. "Where's the flea market at?"

Merry frowned. "Uh … up town. Really up town. I don't know how I'd get up there without the C-Bird."

"What about the subway?" Pippin asked.

"I don't know. I try to avoid it."

"What's wrong with it?"

"I don't know. It just turns me off. All those big people, all the yelling and the running, and I keep hearing about orcs mugging people down there."

"You want Sam to find the microwave?" Pippin asked.

"…Ah heck," Merry sat up. "I've killed plenty of orcs before. I guess I can take 'em on."

"Ok. What about sneaking it out of the apartment?"

Merry shrugged. "Sam doesn't usually get up until 5: 00. I can at least get two hours of sleep in and leave a little before then."

Pippin clapped his hands together softly. "Great. So it's all taken care of. I'll just do both our routes in the morning."

"Good luck with that," Merry said and tossed his papers aside as he lay down. "Let's get some sleep. We've gotta be on our feet if we wanna pull this off."

"Yeah. Night, Merry."

"Night." Merry said and pulled the sheets up over his shoulders.

The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was a muffled "Ow!" from Pippin, followed by a shower of tiny drink umbrellas onto the floor beside him.

……………………………..

Soon to be updated…

(Disclaimer: Own nothing.)

What's Up Doc?

"I think that's it over there," Dwalin said, pointing.


	15. The Trolley Ride of DOOM

(Disclaimer: Don't own it)

**What's Up Doc?**

Today was the day. From the moment he'd woken up that morning to the moment he'd sat his toast-crumb-stained plate in the sink, Sam could think of nothing else but that single thought. Today was the day: Wednesday.

The day of the St. Radagast Hospital's twenty-fifth anniversary dinner party.

And already the day was off to a shaky start. Merry was gone, and had only left a note saying that he went out early to run some errands before his route. Sam doubted this was the real reason, but thought nothing more of it; Merry was sensible enough.

Frodo was going down to pick up their suits at the dry cleaners that morning, and would probably be making a few other stops afterwards. Sam was going to be at work all day. This meant one very simple, though vital little fact.

Pippin would be staying home to watch Gollum.

"Now if he starts to get a little moody—and trust me, he will—just give him his space. Maybe turn on the TV for him or something. If that doesn't work, use this."

Sam handed Pippin a small flashlight and continued with his instructions. "The light should scare him off, and he'll probably go under the couch. But if _that_ doesn't work, then just keep him back with this."

Sam reached into his pocket and retrieved a flat package of bread-like crackers, wrapped in a large dark leaf.

Pippin looked at it, puzzled. "Lembas bread?"

"Trust me, it'll work. Just tell him I especially wanted _him_ to eat it, and he won't wanna come out for a week."

"Why's that?" Pippin asked, taking the lembas.

Sam looked away awkwardly. "I...really don't want to get into that right now."

"Alright," Pippin stuffed the items into his pockets. "What if that doesn't work?"

Sam shrugged. "Then make sure the doors are locked and hide in your room or something. I doubt it'd get that bad though."

"Can't I just put on one of your stress tapes with the nature sounds?"

Sam shrugged again. "Sure. If it'll keep him from strangling you, why not?"

With that, Sam picked up his briefcase and went for the door.

"See you tonight," he called back to a much stiffer, slightly paler Pippin.

* * *

If it wasn't the loud hiss that followed the goblin's unsettling "Hello there", it was the blast of its fowl whiskey-smelling breath that made Merry jump back. He nodded quickly in response and hurried off, struggling to keep a secure hold on the microwave.

Even at this ungodly hour, the subways were packed. Hundreds if not thousands of elves, men, dwarves, orcs and the likes were hustling about in all directions, all of them seemingly oblivious to Merry's presence as they shoved past him, sometimes nearly trampling him.

"Hey!" an elf shouted, dodging the giant package. "Watch it with that thing!"

"Sorry!" Merry shouted and leapt aside, only to collide with another.

"Watch where you're going!" the second elf shouted.

"Sorry again!" Merry yelled and hurried off, slipping inside the trolley's doors. With a huge sigh of relief, he plopped himself down beside two dwarves.

One of them, a shaggy black-bearded one, looked over at Merry, eyeing him and the box suspiciously, then looked back at his friend.

"_Sa twonrum draan hvaate. Aal hafe aalmark galdrur bak,"_ he said gruffly. The other dwarf, a brown-bearded one, began to laugh.

"What?" Merry asked, looking over at him uneasily. "What'd he say?"

The brown-bearded dwarf, still laughing, just shook his head. "You don't wanna' know."

Merry sighed again and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes as the squeaky little "I-told-you-so" voices began to play in his head. Why couldn't he have just taken a bus?

"Well dress me up and call me Salad!" a voice across from him exclaimed. "It's you again!"

Merry opened his eyes reluctantly, then froze.

Why oh why couldn't he have just taken a bus?

"Grishnakh?!"

"How could I have been so stupid!" the overly-enthusiastic orc said, slapping himself in the forehead. "I forgot to say the trolley! If I'm not by the Elvish restaurant or at the movies, I'll be on the trolley on my way _to_ the movies! Or on my way to the restaurant! It's a good thing I saw you come on here, or I might _never've_ gotten to tell you!"

He laughed to himself and looked back up at Merry. "Isn't it funny how we keep running into each other like this?"

Merry nodded stiffly, still in shock. "Yes," he said tensely. "Funny."

"So what've you been up to?"

"Oh...nothing. Just...hanging out."

Grishnakh grinned, showing a mouthful of rotten teeth. "Me too!" he said.

"Grishnakh, eh?" said a third voice, deep and unfriendly sounding. Merry and the orc both looked up together. The cheerful look on Grishnakh's face disappeared.

"Ugluk," he hissed distastefully. The Uruk-Hai nodded back curtly.

Merry blinked. "Ugluk?" he echoed. "But you got killed back in Fangorn!" He looked around, confused. "Did _anyone_ die in the war?!"

"Yeah, my second cousin Snaga!" Grishnakh growled, and glared up at Ugluk. "You lopped 'is head clean off!"

"The bag of slime was disobeying orders. He wasn't using that empty skin he called a head enough to deserve keeping it!"

"Well you made a big mistake, you scum on stilts! No body kills my father's cousin's brother's step son's uncle and gets off without picking a bone with old Grishnakh! I'm gonna bleed you so bad, it'll make your ancestors dizzy!" And with that the two rivals drew out their deadly knives in unison.

A black-haired elf leapt forward suddenly, forcing the two rivals apart. "What's going on here?" he demanded.

"Get out of my way!" Ugluk bellowed. "I'm gonna settle something that should've been settled a long time ago!"

"Yeah! Mind your own business, pixie!" the brown-haired dwarf shouted to the elf. "The world'll be better with one less orc!"

"_Hnarth at liitharen!"_ The black-haired dwarf added.

"Go ahead," Grishnakh sneered to Ugluk. "Go ahead, try and take me out. You're out-numbered, Ugluk! This little hobbit's gonna back me up all the way!"

"What hobbit?" Ugluk crowed. Grishnakh, confused, spun around to look at Merry.

But there was nothing in the little hobbit's seat but a microwave.

* * *

Morwen made her way cautiously alongside the parked trolley towards the doors. It was hectic down in the subway, and she was relieved to finally get out of the tight crowd. The forty-year-old mother of two just wasn't cut out for the harsh city life, she'd decided long ago.

There was a dulled shuffle, and the muted sound of several arguing voices sounded out from her left. She stepped back, puzzled at the sound, then warily came forward once more and peered into the window...

A small figure shot out from nowhere, wild-eyed and terrified, throwing himself against the opposite side of the glass.

"_HELP ME!!"_ he screeched, pounding on the window pain frantically with his large hobbit hands. _"HELP ME!!"_

But Morwen was already gone, screaming as she ran back into the hustling crowd.

* * *

Soon to be updated... 


	16. The Great Escape

(Disclaimer: Don't own it)

**What's Up Doc?**

Frodo sighed as he slung his load of groceries once again over his shoulder and trudged along down the sidewalk to the Laundromat. The walk from the grocery store was only about three blocks, but somehow the bag of flower, box of cereal, carton of eggs, loaf of bread, two milk cartons and box of Cellentani pasta he carried with him managed to make the trip feel much longer.

It was stupid to go to the grocery store first, he realized that now, but for some reason he thought it would've been better to just get it over with. There was something about that old hobbit man at the Customer Service counter that just made him feel queasy.

The hobbit finally came to a stop in front of the Laundromat door. He looked through the glass at the already growing line of morning customers inside, sighed again, then swung open the relatively large door and walked inside. Casually, though with some caution to avoid the odd glances of the people in line at his load of groceries, Frodo made his way up to the counter.

…And was greeted almost instantly by a foul wave of stinking, almost toxic-smelling fumes.

"Uhh!" he grimaced, twisting his features into an almost unrecognizable shape. He looked up at the man behind the counter. "What's that smell?"

"A rabbit crawled into the furnace duct last night and dropped dead," the man said indifferently. He nodded at the ticket dispenser. "Take a number."

"A rabbit?" Frodo echoed. "How'd a rabbit get into the furnace?"

The man shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe there was a hole on the outside vent. Anyway, it's in there now, and it ain't going anywhere."

"Didn't you call anyone about getting it out? The smell's terrible!"

"Yeah, but to be honest, I really don't mind it that much. The heater only comes on and blows the smell everywhere every ten minutes."

Frodo looked at him like he was crazy. "You have the heater on? It's July!"

The man looked back at him unresponsively. "So what're you saying?"

Frodo shook his head. "Nothing. Could you hand me a ticket? I can't reach the machine."

"Yeah, here."

"Thanks," Frodo said, then took the ticket and walked quickly to the end of the line, eager to get away from the smell.

To his distress, he discovered that he could still smell it, even when he stood all the way back by the door. It wasn't quite as strong, but still strong enough that he would have liked more than anything to leave. It was like getting punched in the stomach every time he inhaled.

Hopefully, the line would move quickly and he'd get out fast enough. The Laundromat wasn't that crowded yet, and he was only picking some things up. He'd be out in no time.

"A-12!" the man behind the counter shouted. "Is there an A-12?"

No response.

"Any A-12's out there?"

Absent-mindedly, Frodo's eyes strayed down to the ticket in his hand, reading the number.

T-26.

He stopped, doing a double-take and gazing down at the number in his hand again. T-26? How could he have such a high number? There were only ten customers in the whole line! Taking a deep breath, he walked back up to the counter.

"Sir?" he asked, looking up at the man.

The man looked down at Frodo like he'd never seen him before in his life. "What do you want?"

"Did you say ticket number A-12?"

"Yeah. Why, you got it?"

"No. I have T-26."

The man looked at the ticket and nodded. "Yeah. Just wait 'till I call that number and then come up."

"But Sir, there's hardly anybody here. There's no way my number can be that high."

The man shrugged again. "Well, it is. Just wait 'till I say that number. I don't wanna mess up the system."

At first, Frodo tried to think of something reasonable to tell the man and convince him to skip ahead, but eventually decided that nothing intelligent-sounding would ever have any affect on him. Reluctantly, the dark-haired hobbit turned and went back to the end of the line.

But before he took up his place at the end of the lot, he opened the door wide, took in a deep breath, and stepped back inside with his cheeks full of fresh outdoor air.

* * *

Merry glanced quickly at the microwave, making sure that it was still intact, then immediately shifted his gaze back to Ugluk, who sat in the far corner of the trolley car. In turn, the giant Uruk-hai glared back in his direction, or rather, in the direction of Grishnakh, who was sitting beside the hobbit.

It hadn't been long after the fight had started when the conductor came back and ordered everyone to break it up. Hoping to avoid any future brawls on the way to the next station, he'd told each company to pick a section of the car and stay in it, away from the others.

Grishnakh, unfortunately, had walked away from the fight with more than a warning from the conductor. He'd gotten a good swipe from Ugluk's knife in his arm before they'd been split up, and he was now proceeding to bandage the wound with a long silver strip of duct tape.

"You sure that's enough?" Merry asked him.

"Are you kidding?" the orc asked back. "This stuff's the best! It's all I ever use!"

"And it works?"

"Does it ever! I was selling bootlegs two years ago when some blind orc walked by with a seeing-eye warg. That thing latched right on to my rear end and shook me up and down like he thought candy was gonna come out! I couldn't find a phone to call the paramedics, so I patched myself up with duct tape. Took me the whole roll, and I couldn't sit for a week, but it worked! Course, since then, I've always had a scar there. Wanna see it?"

"No!" Merry shouted, holding up his hands.

Grishnakh shrugged. "Your loss."

The orc sat back in his seat, casually swinging his feet back and forth.

Merry sighed and looked down at his watch.

"Ten minutes 'til the next station…" he mused.

* * *

Grima Wormtongue sat back, his arms and legs strapped down to his hospital bed with eight thick leather bands, and gazed intently up at the clock. 2:35. Exactly seventeen hours since the elves had taken him to what he now referred to as his "plotting room."

He had to get out. Curse that Eomer. This was all his fault, the filthy weasel. How long was he going to be in here? Surely the doctors could see that he was a regularly-functioning, perfectly sane man. It wouldn't be long until they let him out, and then he would get Eomer for this!

No…not Eomer.

Samuel Smith.

Yes. The hobbit. This was _his_ doing. He never would have come here if that little louse hadn't invaded his territory. Nobody treated Grima Johnson III's patients behind his back. Nobody!

"Waiting for something, Mr. Johnson?" Haldir asked coolly. The elf sat across from Grima's bed, watching him closely.

"It's been hours already!" Wormtongue growled. "How much longer will this madness continue?"

"Three days, Mr. Johnson."

"_THREE DAYS!"_ Wormtongue screeched. "This is unconstitutional! There's nothing wrong with me!"

"Of course there's not," Haldir said in a calming voice, obviously far from convinced. "We just want to keep you here so we can make sure you're in good hands."

"Now you listen to me, Fairy Boy!" Grima hissed as he struggled to lift his head and sneer at the elf. "I've been a licensed physician longer than most of your staff here's been alive! I'm here to see one of your doctors. A hobbit. A short, fat, ugly little hobbit. He's in this building somewhere, and I am going to find him. Now you can help me, or you can get what I'm gonna give _him_ if you don't let me out of here _right now_!"

Haldir shook his head. "You are a sad, strange little man," he said flatly. He got up and went to the counter.

Wormtongue let out a loud frustrated growl as he dropped his head back and shook his fists. His right arm remained tightly strapped down, barely moving.

His left arm, however, moved quite a bit.

Grima looked down in surprise. The strap holding his left wrist down had come undone! The doctors hadn't buckled it properly!

He glanced quickly up at Haldir, making sure the elf had his back turned, and reached over to unbuckle his right arm. A difficult reach, but still manageable. Within seconds, both his arms were free.

"You have no idea just how much help you need," Haldir continued, paging through the notebook in front of him. "Fortunately you're getting every bit of it."

"Yeah, that is good," Wormtongue pretended to agree, speedily unbuckling his leg straps. "I've been having problems for a while. I should've gone and gotten help a long time ago, because I'm completely nuts."

"Really?" Haldir asked, turning back to him. Wormtongue quickly lay back in his bed, nodding eagerly as he met the elf's eye.

"Oh yeah," he went on. "I've always been out there. Living alone, doing my own thing. I was never very social since I left school. My pants fell down in front of the whole hockey team. It was humiliating. I could never show my face there again."

Haldir arched an eyebrow. "I see."

Wormtongue tilted his head to look out the window over Haldir's shoulder, then let out a fake scream.

"Oh my Valor! Look!"

"What?" Haldir asked, looking out the window. "What's wrong?"

"There's a thing out there!" Wormtongue exclaimed. "It just went down under the windowsill!"

"What was it?" Haldir asked, turning to him.

"There it is again!" Wormtongue shouted.

Haldir turned to look a second time. "What is it?"

"A distraction, you she-man!" Wormtongue cackled and sprang from his bed, free of the straps, and bolted out the door.

"Hey!" Haldir shouted after him. "You get back here!"

But it was too late. Wormtongue was already halfway down the hallway. Not wanting to waste valuable time and make a lengthy announcement on the PA system, he simply took off after the man, straining his keen elf eyes to keep sight of him as the runaway patient bolted through the corridors.

The chase had begun.

…………………………………...….

Soon to be updated…


	17. Big Trouble for Little People

(Disclaimer: not mine)

**What's Up Doc?**

Elrond casually picked up the coffee pot and poured himself another cup—his fifth one that morning. Sam looked at him oddly for a second before speaking up.

"You sure that's healthy, Mr. Elrond?" he asked. "You've been hitting the coffee pretty hard today."

"I have to," Elrond said, sitting the pot back in the coffee machine. "Otherwise I'll be dozing off all through the dinner party. I'm not one for staying up all night."

Sam forced a half-smirk at the comment and downed the rest of his own coffee mug. He'd been told by Frodo on numerous occasions that he was the last person in Middle Earth who should be on caffeine, but would simply respond by saying he "couldn't see color without it." He had to be on alert, and he had a feeling he'd need to be especially alert today.

"So," Elrond continued, "Are you ready for tonight?"

Sam shrugged. "As ready as I'll be. I'm hoping I won't have to make any more changes to my speech. I've had to rewrite it a few times."

"I'm sure it's fine. You've really been making this a lot more stressful than it has to be."

"I know. It's just…I'm really looking forward to tonight. This is a pretty big occasion, you know."

"Yes, I do," Elrond said, sitting down his coffee mug. "I assume all four of your roommates will be coming tonight?"

"Yeah. Don't worry; they'll be well behaved. Frodo's every bit as responsible as I am. You know him."

"And the other two?"

"…Frodo's every bit as responsible as I am."

Elrond smirked a little and nodded. "What are the other two's names again?"

"Merry and Pippin. They came along with us on the quest to Mordor. Remember them? One tall, one short, both had blondish hair?"

"Ah yes," Elrond said, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling as he went over to the sink with his mug. "I remember them. 'You'll have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us,' I believe were their exact words." He looked over at Sam. "I understand it took them a little while to prove I'd made a smart decision not to follow that suggestion."

"They had their moments," Sam defended. "An orc here and there. I've been told they helped out a bit towards the end."

"And how are they nowadays?"

"Merry's gotten a _little_ more responsible over the years."

"And Pippin?"

Sam thought again for a moment. "Yeah, he's gotten more responsible, too." he paused after saying this, though, then tried rephrasing himself. "I mean…I'm _pretty_ sure he's gotten more responsible."

He stopped again, then said, "He _might_ be more responsible."

"This will be a very interesting occasion indeed," Elrond said under his breath.

"I _hope_ he's gotten more responsible…" Sam went on, clutching his coffee mug a little tighter as his eyes grew wide.

* * *

The TV was turned off, along with the radio, stereo, and the air conditioner. The refrigerator hadn't even been opened yet that day, except for when Sam had checked on the morphine before leaving.

Pippin sat on the sofa, staring blankly ahead at the wall beside the TV. Gollum sat beside him, staring ahead as well. Neither of them had said a word to each other for the past ten minutes. What was there to talk about? The only thing they even remotely had in common was that they both liked bacon.

It was Pippin who finally broke the silence. "So... You get out often?"

"Out where, Precious?" Gollum asked.

"Anywhere. You ever go places?"

"Like the bathroom?"

It took Pippin a minute to register this. "There's a bathroom in the janitor's closet?"

"No, Precious. Is in the lobby."

Pippin shrugged. "I guess that would count."

There was another long silence. Gollum swung his legs back and forth for a minute, staring at the floor.

Pippin looked over at him again. "So how'd you survive Mount Doom?" he asked.

Gollum stopped swinging his legs, thinking about the question. "How did we survive?" he repeated, making sure he'd heard right.

"Yeah. How'd you survive? I heard you landed right in the lava."

"…Well, yes, we did, Precious. We most certainly did."

Pippin leaned in a little and raised his eyebrows, waiting to hear more. "…How'd you survive?" he asked again.

"Uh…" Gollum's head was whirling with thoughts, trying to piece together a story. "We…used the Precious," he said.

"You used the Ring?" Pippin asked, puzzled. "How?"

"As a flotation device. It was small, but it held our weight pretty well. It's magic; we can't explain it."

"What happened after the Ring melted?" Pippin asked.

Gollum stopped, not expecting this. "…Well then there was a problem," he said quickly. "We had to swim for it, Precious."

"In the lava? Didn't you get burned?"

"Oh yes. There was some significant burning. But we made it out."

"Then what happened?"

"We met up with a gang of orcs outside. They were pretty nice, except for that time when they used us for a bridge to cross that trench into Gondor. We were with them for a few years. We really learned a lot from them."

"Like what?" Pippin asked, not entirely sure if he should believe the creature's bizarre story.

"Well, for starters, they showed us how to drink out of a Pepsi can without opening it."

Pippin laughed and sat back. "Oh, give me a break. That's impossible to do."

"Maybe to most people, but we's the master of it, Precious."

Pippin raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Oh yeah? Well show me, then. Here." He got up and went to the fridge. He retrieved two cans of Pepsi and tossed one to Gollum. "Drink out of that without opening it."

"No problem, Precious," Gollum said, coolly.

He studied the can for a second, concentrating on it. Then he held up the tightly sealed beverage to drink, and downed the entire thing in a matter of seconds. There was a triumphant look on his face as he handed the unopened, empty can to Pippin, who stared down at it in amazement.

"…How did you _do_ that?" the young hobbit exclaimed.

"Is a secret, Precious. Yes, a great secret indeed."

Pippin handed him the second can. "Do it again," he said eagerly.

Again, Gollum took the can and emptied it in seconds. He smirked up at Pippin as he handed him this can as well.

Pippin's eyes went huge with over-excitement. "Awesome!" he shouted. "I'll go get some more!"

With that, he darted back into the kitchen and opened the fridge, rooting madly throughit for another can...

* * *

Gimli nearly jumped out of his skin when the phone rang, interrupting the dramatic commerce of the moment. After regaining his posture, he stepped back from his work and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" he grumbled.

"Gimli? It's Balin."

"BALIN!"

On the other end of the line, Balin jerked back wildly, nearly dropping the phone and falling out of his chair. After regaining his own posture, he held the phone back up to his ear and went on.

"Yes, Gimli, it's me. And I would very much like to talk to you about my car"

Gimli's eyes darted around his apartment nervously. He was trapped, now. There was nothing left for him to do at this point except the one thing he did best: act stupid.

"…What car?" he asked.

"_My_ car, Gimli!" Balin growled, not buying the act. "My red mustang that you always gawk at for hours on end every time you come to my house. The car that is now missing from my garage and sitting in an auto shop where it reeks of month-old cabbage."

"…You have a _car?_"

"Gimli! I'm not falling for that again!"

"Falling for what?"

"What did you do to the car?"

"I have to go to the bathroom," Gimli said flatly.

"GIMLI!" Balin shouted from the other end.

"You're breaking up."

"That's it! I'm coming over there!"

"My apartment's on fire," Gimli said quickly in a last attempt to save himself, but he was answered only with a dial tone. Balin had hung up.

He cursed loudly, slamming the receiver down, then took a long swig of his beer can. After this, he belched just as loudly, then immediately set back to work.

An evil, if not psychotic grin appeared on his hairy face as he picked up his old battle-axe and placed its blade back on the grinding stone, slowly turning the large wheel with his free hand. For several minutes, he only stared down at the spinning granite block as it scraped against the steel axe, creating a small shower of sparks. Then quietly, he began cackling to himself as he let loose quite randomly with what might have been one of the worst singing performances ever heard in the Fourth Age.

"Hi ho, hi ho!  
It's off to whack hobbits I go!  
I'll swing my axe, then take some cash  
And then, I'll go and eat some cabbage!"

…………………………………………………….

Soon to be updated…


	18. Trapped Like Rats and Hobbits

(Disclaimer: Not mine.)

**What's Up Doc?**

Three o'clock rolled in at the Laundromat, and Frodo found himself no closer in line to the counter than he'd been half an hour ago. The man behind the counter was barely halfway through the A's, and ten more customers had come in, making the small room all the more crowded. What was worse, the furnace had gone off about three times since Frodo had taken his place in line, spreading the ever-worsening dead rabbit smell around the entire facility.

Frodo sighed and sat down his grocery bags. The groceries themselves were probably spoiled by now—at any rate, they wouldn't smell very good when the time came to take them home. The Shire Complex was about a seven-minute walk from here, and at the rate things were moving here, Frodo had a feeling he wouldn't have the time to go and buy more groceries. He had to get home around six o'clock.

"T-38!" the man behind the counter shouted. "T-38! Does anyone have T-38?"

"That's me!" yelled a blonde elf near the end of the line. A little too eager, he swept up his briefcase and darted up to the counter, right past a very shocked looking Frodo.

After the elf had paid for and walked out with a brown hunting tunic, the dark-haired hobbit went up to the counter, quickly taking a deep breath before the rabbit smell became overpowering.

"D-32!" the man shouted, then looked down at Frodo. "Well _that_ was fast! You got the ticket?"

"No," Frodo said. "I was just wondering: did you…just call T-38?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Well…I'm T-26. You just called up someone who came in _after_ me."

The man just shrugged. "What can I tell ya', kid? That was the number it said on the list. Just wait a little; I'll get to your number eventually."

Frodo's eyes shifted to the notebook on the counter that the man was reading from. "About how long is 'eventually?'" he asked.

"Eventually," the man answered gruffly. He looked down at his watch. "Welp, the heater's coming on again!"

A chorus of gags and coughs rose up from the various elves, dwarves, and men in the line as the familiar humming sound of the furnace came on. Frodo sent the man an unfriendly glower, then darted back to his place in line before the rotten fumes could reach him, eyes bugging out even larger than usual all the while. Narrowly avoiding the swinging umbrella of a frantic dwarf, he ducked behind a taller man and huddled on the floor with his waiting groceries.

Frodo sighed heavily and leaned back against the wall, savoring the momentarily breathable air around him. Absent mindedly, he glanced down at his wristwatch.

3: 05.

Groaning to himself, Frodo banged the back of his head against the wall in frustration. Then, not knowing what else to do with himself, he reached into one of the grocery bags and pulled out the box of Cellentani pasta.

It was the worst lunch he'd ever eaten, he decided later.

* * *

"Hey! How much longer 'till we get to the next stop?"

"About five minutes," the man responded.

"_Sak arau,"_ the brown-bearded dwarf translated to his black-bearded companion.

"_Sak? Wurgym calass?"_ the other dwarf asked.

"_Bedorn. Es zander jargh."_

The black-bearded dwarf snorted with disgust. _"Samryn llargh."_

"_Kuld barak thorden—"_

"Say it in English, you hair bags!" Ugluk blasted, cutting their conversation short. "You're driving me mad, rambling on in your stinking secret code!"

"It's called Dwarvish, Fat-head," the brown-bearded dwarf said back. "Lots of people speak it. He doesn't understand English, so we're speaking Dwarvish!"

"Don't waste your air arguing with that bag of scum," Grishnakh commented suddenly. Merry's head whipped around to stare at him in horror. "He ain't worth even looking at, let alone talking to!"

Ugluk immediately turned his attention back to his enemy. "What was that?" he demanded, narrowing his eyes.

"Nothing!" Merry said quickly. "I just sneezed! …Several times!"

"I said you're a worthless bag of scum!" Grishnakh repeated indifferently as he stood up, ignoring the hobbit.

"Well you're a slimy heap of warg droppings!" Ugluk shot back, rising to his full height.

"Oh, stop it already!" the dark-haired elf snapped from his seat by the doors. "Can't you two wait until you get off the trolley to settle this?"

"Can't you ever mind your own business, Pointy-Ear?" the brown-bearded dwarf demanded in turn.

"_Wargym sagh sabrak!"_ the black-bearded dwarf added. Merry sat glued in his seat and watched the scene of mayhem unfolding in front of him, asking himself over and over again in his head why he didn't take the bus.

"Hey, quiet down back there!" the conductor hollered abruptly, and everyone in the trolley car went completely silent. Merry looked up at him, then stared out the front window over the irritated man's shoulder. The trolley was moving fast, and the dark tunnel around it was a total blur. Just then, a spark from the ceiling caught his eye, followed by another, then another.

The conductor looked over at the two orcs. "And you two!" he yelled, "Get back in your corners!" he ordered.

Ugluk turned and once again glared at Grishnakh, much more threateningly. "You heard him," he growled. "Get back in your corner."

In turn, Grishnakh glowered up at him. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Then your _head_ will!" the Uruk-Hai roared, and without another word, lunged at him.

"Wait! Stop!" Merry shouted, and without thinking sprang from his seat, armed with the first weapon he pulled from his pocket: his Mr. Peanut action figure.

Just then, there was a loud screech above their heads as the trolley's metal roof scraped against something on the tunnel ceiling. The car slowed almost to a complete stop, roughly throwing its passengers forward as a shower of sparks erupted from one of the ceiling panels.

Merry screamed as he crashed into the back of a seat. Ugluk bellowed as he slammed head-first into one of the silver poles in the middle of the floor. Grishnakh let out a loud "Woo-hoo!" as he flew across the room, smashing against the wall.

Another loud sound, like an explosion, was heard and the lights inside the trolley went out. This was followed by a second screech, and the large transport vehicle finally came to a halt. A second or two passed, and the lights flickered back on.

Merry sat up, dazed. "Oh man," he groaned, rubbing his head. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Grishnakh said, lying on the floor with his legs up against the wall. "…But it was _great!_ Did you see it? My legs flew up, and my lips went back like this, and all these things flew out of my mouth, and I was sailing through the air! And then I hit the wall, and it was like BAM! My whole body was vibrating! _Woooooooh!_ Let's do that again!"

The elf was the next to get up. Swaying back and forth all the while, he staggered to his feet and stumbled over to a window, stepping over the half-conscious Ugluk. Dizzily, he stared outside.

"We're stopped," he said.

"What do you mean?" Merry asked.

"We're not moving," the elf rephrased himself. "The trolley's stopped."

"Is it supposed to be?"

"No," said the conductor, getting up from his seat. "We've still got half way to go before we reach the next station. There must've been something wrong with the cables, 'cause the power just died on us."

The elf looked at him. "No power?" he asked. "You mean…"

"We're stuck here," the man nodded.

"Stuck?" said Merry, disbelieving.

"Stuck?" said the brown-bearded dwarf.

"Ugh…" groaned Ugluk.

"BAM!" shouted Grishnakh.

* * *

Grima Wormtongue put his hand on the wall for support as he bent nearly in half, gasping for breath. He couldn't believe he'd lost that elf. He was in terrible shape for his age, and the blonde Lothlorien native was fit enough to leap clear over a cart without loosing any of his momentum—in fact, he'd cleared three.

Regardless of how he'd managed to get away, Wormtongue was just glad that he did. Now he would have to keep himself hidden from his pursuer, and resume his original mission of finding the hobbit doctor. But how?

"Hey there, Thrulian," said a voice from around the corner. Wormtongue froze, flattening himself up against the wall.

"Hey, Hama," said another voice in response. "What's going on?"

"I need to make an announcement," said the first voice, Hama. "Can I borrow the speaker in your room down the hall there?"

"Sure. The patients are down in the cafeteria; the room's empty."

"Thanks." Footsteps could then be heard approaching the corner of the hallway. Wormtongue looked around frantically for a hiding place.

After a few heart-pounding seconds, he spotted a metal door with a small square window nearby on the wall he was standing against. Without giving a second thought to this sudden convenience, he rushed over to the door, yanked it open, and disappeared inside just a moment before Hama came around the corner.

Smiling to himself, the Rohirrim man stepped leisurely into the room he'd indicated to, walking behind a large heart monitor and vanishing from sight. Wormtongue saw his chance. Quickly, he reached for the door's handle.

To his dismay, he found there was none.

"What the—" he stammered to himself, horrified. The door didn't open from the inside. He was trapped! And if he called for help, the doctors would find him, and he'd right back in that hospital bed where he started. He was trapped! Trapped inside this…storage room, or something. Where was he?

"Attention, all staff," Hama's voice announced over the PA system. "Those of you who are currently storing any medicines, antidotes, or samples in your homes due to the recent malfunction in the cooling units are to please bring those items back to the hospital tomorrow. The cooling units in the storage freezer have been fully repaired and will resume operating at this time. That is all."

No sooner did the announcement end than Wormtongue heard a loud hiss behind him. He turned, already suspecting its source, and saw a large cloud of vapor descending from two ducts in the ceiling. His eyes grew huge, and he flattened himself against the door as the realization hit him. He was inside_ the storage freezer_.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!" was his only word in response to this.

……………………………………………….

Soon to be updated…


	19. Terror on the Trolley

(Disclaimer: I don't own anything.)

**What's Up Doc?**

Although he'd never actually counted, Pippin guessed he drank roughly twenty-six cans of Pepsi a month. That was about 6½ cans a week, which reduced to about 1⅓ cans a day.

Over the last hour, Pippin estimated that he and Gollum had each drunk roughly two months worth of Pepsi.

"Wait!" Pippin shouted enthusiastically. "I think I've got it!" He snatched up an unopened can in his twitching hands, shook it wildly, then attempted to take a large swig. No sooner did he hold up the can than he was thoroughly drenched from a foamy spray of the brown beverage.

"We guesses that ones was already opened, Precious!" Gollum gasped between laughing fits.

Pippin laughed even louder, dropping the soaked can back onto the coffee table. "Looks like we're out again," he said, looking over the dozens of empty cans in front of them. "I'll go get some more."

With that, he got up from the couch and stumbled into the kitchen.

Pippin found it almost impossible now that only days ago he'd been terrified of Gollum. Sure, the old creature was no looker—particularly when he was leaning over someone's bed at night with his eyes glowing—but he was fun to be around. In fact, spending time with him felt almost like spending time with Merry, the only difference being that Pippin was usually able to understand every word his cousin said.

Stifling another laugh at his can incident a moment ago, the hobbit pulled open the refrigerator door and peered inside.

…And just like that, his laughing stopped.

"Hey, Pippinses," Gollum called from the living room a few moments later, teetering back and forth on the couch in an attempt to lick his elbow. "What's it doing?"

Pippin didn't respond to the question right away, and bent down to look on the bottom shelf of the fridge, scanning the assortment of vegetables, lunchmeat, and week-old leftovers closely. Finally, when his search ended to no prevail, he stood up and said, "Looks like we're out."

Gollum stopped teetering and looked over at him. "What?"

"There's no more Pepsi," Pippin responded. "We drank it all."

There was a look of what appeared to be desperation on Gollum's face as he hopped off the couch and scurried into the kitchen. His eyes, large as they were already, seemed to grow to twice their size as he gazed into the fridge.

"It's…positive?" he asked nervously. He leaned closer, and began sniffing around on the thick wire shelves. Pippin looked at him oddly for a second, then took a small step back.

"Yeah," the hobbit continued. "I looked all through it. There's none left."

"How could there be's nones left, Precious?" Gollum demanded, his voice rising a tad.

"Well, we drank almost nine packs."

"But there's gots to be moreses! Maybe we's can goes find some more, Precious!"

"I can't take you out of the apartment," Pippin said warily. "Sam said to keep you here until the medication wears off."

"Oh yes, it always listens to good Fat Hobbit!" Gollum spat. His pupils constricted down to tiny black points as he said Sam's nickname. "Good, great, wise Fat Hobbit, who knows _so much!_ Oh yes, my Precious the fat one always knows best, always tells them whats to do, doesn't it? Of course it does…"

Pippin swallowed hard and stepped back further. Now what? Gollum looked about ready to rip to rip someone's head off, and he was starting to stare at him with a rather venomous look… Oh, what did Sam say to do if he got moody? Where was that flashlight?

It was then that he remembered Sam's nature tapes.

"Wait right here," Pippin quickly instructed to Gollum. "I've got an idea." And he hurried out of the kitchen and into the little hallway. Sam's room was the farthest one to the right, the closed door specifically marked with a yellow "All others will have potatoes thrown at them" sign (with hyphens drawn between the three syllables in "potatoes," emphasizing its pronunciation.)

Liking the idea of getting free vegetables, Pippin had gone into his friend's room several times before, and thus knew exactly where to find the tapes. They were under Sam's bed, stacked neatly inside an old shoebox. Eagerly, the young hobbit began routing through the collection, reading each item's name aloud as he went.

"'Thunder and Rain,' 'Awakening Nightingale,' 'Water on Rocks,' 'Wolves on the Tundra,' 'Skylark?'" Pippin stared at the tapes in his hands. "What _is_ all this crap? Who would wanna listen to that?"

He tossed the tapes carelessly back into their box, and thought for a moment. Did he have anything good? What did he listen to when he wanted to relax?

Pippin sprang to his feet as an idea came to him, and rushed over to his and Merry's room at the opposite end of the hall. His CD carrier was sitting on one of the dressers. He retrieved the right disc, and picked up Merry's radio/CD player as he stepped over the pile of rubble and candy wrappers placed strategically in front of the door.

It was time to bring out Old Will.

* * *

Frodo was jiggling his legs impatiently, hopping slightly as he stood in line. He couldn't see over the man's shoulder in front of him, and he was tired of having to lean all the way out to see the counter. The line hadn't moved for close to an hour now.

_This is ridiculous,_ he thought to himself. _How could he be that far behind with the numbers? No one's been answering him for hours! Why can't he just jump ahead? _

He winced again as he inhaled, then pulled his shirt collar up over his nose.

_This place really smells. How could that not be bothering him? For Eru's sake, it's a dead rabbit! Does he actually think that smells good? Why doesn't he call a guy in to get it out? Why doesn't HE just get it out? The smell doesn't bother him; he could just reach in there and grab it! Oh, man, I can't take this anymore. I think I'm losing my mind! I feel like I'm in a concentration camp! I feel like I'm gonna be sick! WHY can't he just jump ahead? Nobody has B-7! Just start with the R's or something! Go faster! Move! MOVE!_

"Hey, you alright there, Magnar?" the man in front of him asked his friend. As he stepped to the side slightly, Frodo could see that the man he was speaking to had his hand clamped firmly over his mouth, and was starting to turn a light shade of green.

And then…

"Oh Eru, _look out!_"

_BLOARGH!_

Everyone screamed. One woman fainted. The man who'd thrown up darted past his friend and out the door, apparently feeling another one coming. His friend followed him out.

"This is outrageous!" Shouted a dwarf near the end of the line as he watched the two leave. "There's got to be some way out of this!"

"Maybe we can call someone to get the rabbit out!" a she-elf suggested.

"Or maybe we can get the man at the counter to close the vent!" said a man.

Frodo's eyes lit up suddenly. "The man at the counter," he thought out loud to himself. "…That's _it!_"

"What's it?" asked the blonde-bearded dwarf in front of him. Frodo, judging by the pink "Moria Gal" t-shirt she was wearing, assumed this was a dwarf woman.

"I've got an idea to get out of here," Frodo said.

There was a loud shuffling sound as everyone around him leaned in closer to hear.

* * *

"We're _TRAPPED!_" wailed the brown-bearded dwarf. "We're all gonna _DIE_ down here!"

"_Eshgon na amak aght!"_ his black-bearded companion added.

"Trapped?" a woman's voice echoed frantically from the other car. "Die?"

Merry, who had been standing in shock all this time, turned and saw her peering inside the other car with huge eyes. She dressed in the blue-violet dress and bandana-like cap of a Gondorian woman. "What's going on up here?"

Before Merry or the conductor could say a word, Ugluk cut them off and shouted. "We're stuck down here! And what's worse,"—he kicked at Grishnakh, who was still sitting on the floor—"We're stuck down here with this scum!"

Still woozie from his collision with the wall, Grishnakh blinked up at the Uruk-hai.

"Do I know you?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.

"Hey!"

Another figure appeared in the entranceway to the other car just then. He was short; only taller than Merry by a few centimeters. His skin was a sick looking shade of green, and appeared to be covered in slime, as did the stringy mop of black hair on his head. His nose, if it could be called that, was simply two nostrils squished between his giant, olive-green eyes. The woman leaped back in disgust at the sight of him.

"What is you all up here doing?" the goblin asked in broken English, flashing a mouthful of pointed, crooked teeth.

"Oh Valor," Merry groaned and ducked, hiding behind a seat. He didn't think he could take another orc relative showing up and starting a fight.

"One of the cables broke," the conductor answered. "The trolley's stalled."

"We're all gonna _DIE!_" the brown-bearded dwarf shouted again.

"Can it, gold-digger," the elf grumbled. "Help's gonna come in a couple minutes." He looked over at the conductor. "Right?"

The man shrugged. "No idea. We're not close enough to any of the stations to send a distress signal."

"Well tell that to this walking carpet," Ugluk said. The brown-bearded dwarf then shouted a rather inappropriate suggestion to him.

"Why, you piece of—" the Uruk-hai roared.

"What's going on?" A blonde-haired man sporting twin black eye patches asked as he made his way up to the entranceway. "Why's the train stopped?"

"AAAAAIEEEEEE!" screeched the goblin, and he bolted into the front car past Merry and the elf, nearly hitting the same pole Ugluk had before.

"ARF! ARF!" a dog barked in response. Merry noticed a skinny gray Rohirrim hunting dog on a harness by the man's side. A seeing-eye dog.

"Oh, stop it, you little coward!" the blind man shouted to the goblin. "He's a dog!"

But the green creature was already halfway up the silver pole, screaming, "Arf-Arf evil! Arf-Arf evil!"

"Arf-Arf!" Grishnakh laughed.

This bizarre moment was interrupted suddenly as the brown-bearded dwarf made his feelings towards Ugluk clear once again. Their argument had been going on ever since the blind man came in, and it had reached its final boiling point.

Screaming, the dwarf launched himself at his larger adversary, who stumbled back and tripped over Grishnakh. At the same time, Ugluk slammed against the goblin and knocked him off of the pole.

"Evil!" the green creature shouted as he latched onto the Uruk-hai's back. "Evil!" He then proceeded to claw at Ugluk's head.

Grishnakh was also quite indignant at being stepped on, and expressed this by yanking his old rival's feet out from under him.

_BAM!_ went the trolley wall as it was thus introduced to Ugluk's head.

"Dolur!" the black-bearded dwarf yelled, and ran over to help his companion. The woman screamed again, kicking at any limbs or heads that came too close.

Merry crawled under the seat now, watching the scene in horror: the goblin was hanging from the ceiling, screaming curses down at the seeing-eye dog. The blind man was holding onto a horizontal pole, randomly hitting people with his cane. The woman was repeatedly hitting Grishnakh on the head with her handbag, while the conductor tried to pull the giant accessory out of her grasp. Ugluk hoisted the brown-bearded dwarf over his shoulders, while the black-bearded one took aim and swung at the giant Uruk-hai…with Merry's microwave.

……………………………………….

Soon to be updated…


	20. Enough is Enough

(Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't own a thing.)

**What's Up Doc?**

Gollum screamed. His flat hands flew up to his ears, desperately trying to block out the sound as he doubled over, collapsing to the floor. Pippin, from his seat on the couch, stared down at him in confusion. Somehow, he didn't expect this kind of reaction.

_She bangs! She bangs! Oh baby, when she moves! She moves! I go crazy!_

"What _is_ it!" Gollum screeched, now on his back with his head between his knees.

"William Hung," Pippin replied calmly.

"Well we HATES it, Precious!"

"What's wrong with William Hung? I think he's funny."

_She bangs! She bangs! I'm wasted by the way she moves! She moves! No one ever looked so fiiiine!_

Gollum rolled over and tried to bury his head into the carpet. "It hurts us!" he cried. "It _hurts_ us, Precious!"

_She reminds me that a woman's got one thing on her mind!_

"Make it stop! _MAKE IT STOP!_"

"Alright, fine," Pippin sighed. He got up to turn off the CD player, which was sitting on the little windowsill in the kitchen wall.

"Does it have it, Precious?"

Pippin turned to look at Gollum again. "What?"

"It does, doesn't it?" Gollum asked, kneeling up with his hands still clamped firmly over his ears. His voice was thin and creaky sounding now, and there was a vicious gleam in his eyes as he glared at the hobbit. "Yes, my Precious, it's one of them, it is…"

Pippin stepped back. "What are you talking about?" he asked nervously.

"Yessss," Gollum mused to himself. "It is one of them, one of the filthy hobbitses…" Then his voice grew fierce as he leapt to his hands and feet. "…Who stole my _Precious!_"

"What!" Pippin exclaimed, stumbling back a little. "I didn't steal your Ring! Frodo's uncle Bilbo did! I hardly even looked at it!"

"It _knows_ it!" Gollum growled even fiercer. "It knows the Bagginses!"

"…No I don't," Pippin said quickly, realizing what this conversation was going to come to if he didn't change his story.

"It knows Bagginses! Nasty thief-friend! We hates it!"

"I hardly knew him! He was in-out-gone like that before I ever got to talk to him! …And if I'd _known_ he was a _Ring-thief_, I _never_ would've wanted to _meet him!_"

This strategy didn't seem to work either.

"_AAAAAAAAAAARRRR!_" Gollum shrieked, springing forward.

Pippin screamed, and darted to his right—towards the bathroom. His attacker turned in mid-leap, lightly hitting the wall on his side, and immediately followed the hobbit.

_Hide in a room, make sure the doors are locked!_ Pippin thought frantically to himself as he flew into the bathroom. Once inside, he slammed the door back behind him, throwing his weight against it and twisting the locking mechanism on the knob. A split second later, there was a loud _thump_ as Gollum collided again, rattling the door. He growled, then backed away.

Pippin sighed and sank to the floor, trying to catch his breath. Now what? He was trapped in the bathroom. He couldn't call the others for help, and he couldn't climb out a window—there were none. He couldn't even wire Gandalf in the lobby. Where were Merry and Frodo? They should've been back by now.

He sighed. Oh well. At least he was safe in here.

And then…

_SMASH!_

Gollum's fist exploded through the door in a shower of splinters, just centimeters from Pippin's head. The hobbit screamed and jerked away, eyes gaping. Anxiously, he started digging through the medicine cabinet over the sink.

The hand pulled back out, replaced by Gollum's giant, bloodshot eyes.

"_Heeeeeeeere's Smeagol!_" he crowed.

Pippin responded by spraying him with the can of after-shave.

Gollum screamed and flew back from the hole, clutching his eyes as another of William Hung's nasally groans filled the air.

* * *

Balin grunted as he leaned out the window of Dwalin's van, trying to see inside the car in front of him. What was the hold-up? It'd just been sitting there for five minutes! He didn't have time to just sit around; Gimli was probably devising some crazy plan to escape him right now! And he wanted to have a word with his cousin. A good, long word.

"What's going on up there!" he shouted. "I've got places to be, laddie!"

"Hey gimme a minute, pops!" a younger man's voice shouted back to him. "I'm trying to take my time here!"

Balin's face suddenly turned beat-red.

"Don't you call me 'pops,' you little stinker! Now hit the gas!"

"You wanna start something with me, grandpa?" the man yelled, now leaning out of his window to stare back at Balin. "Huh? Do you want a piece of me?"

"I could drop you like a bag of rocks!" the white-bearded dwarf shot back.

"You want a piece of me?" the man asked. He flung open his car door and lunged for the van. "You got it!"

Sam glanced nervously over at his watch, regretting taking even this brief amount of time off from editing his speech cards. There were only three hours until his shift was over, and he'd been stumped for a compelling conclusion all afternoon.

Perhaps some fresh air would help get him thinking again. This in mind, Sam stood up and anxiously went over to his office window and opened it. Absent-mindedly, he slowed down and looked out over the cityscape, taking in a breath. It was amazing, he thought, that he'd been living here for over seven years. No one had believed he and the others could make it in the big city, but so far, the four hobbits had proved otherwise.

"Yeah! Take that! And that!"

"Is that all you got, fuzz ball?"

"AAAUGH! Not the beard!"

Sam sighed as he spotted a young man and a white-haired dwarf fighting beside a van on the street below.

"Only in the city," me muttered, shaking his head and stepping into the x-ray room.

* * *

Merry ducked just a little closer to the ground as Grishnakh slammed the blind man against the seat in front of him. The orc was attempting to strangle his opponent, who in turn was trying to bite his hands in defense. All the while, the dark-haired elf was shouting and trying to pry Grishnakh's fingers away. He stopped only once to avoid the goblin as his scrawny figure went sailing towards the wall.

"I told you to stop hitting me with that cane thing!" Grishnakh growled.

"Brody!" the blind man shouted. "Brody! Come here, boy! Get him!"

A second later, Merry heard a growl, and the elf let out a very loud, very excruciating cry of pain.

"No, Brody! The other one! Aaaugh!"

Seeing his chance, Merry leapt from his hiding place and darted to the seats across from him, picking up the microwave along the way. Huddling in the leg space of a seat, he flipped open the cardboard lid and looked inside. Surprisingly, the appliance had been unharmed by its connection with Ugluk's head—which was more than Merry could say for the box. Carefully, he slid the box under another seat.

His cargo secure, Merry turned and shot a glance at the opposite window, just to see if anything had started moving again. He saw nothing but blackness, and a tiny blinking orange light on the tunnel wall. No movement whatsoever.

Then he saw a spark, coming from somewhere over the trolley. A few seconds passed, and he saw another. Then another.

Something was wrong with the cables. He knew that. And judging by how long he and the others had been stuck here, it was a safe bet that the damage was severe, or the people trying to fix it couldn't do anything from the main station or wherever they were. It seemed to him that if all these people ever wanted to get out of here, they were going to have to regain their senses and straighten up. And if he was going to do anything about that, he couldn't keep hiding like this.

After sending a final glare around the chaotic scenes in the trolley, Merry stepped out into the isle. He took in a deep breath, thinking about how much he wanted to get out of this mess, and yelled as loud as his tiny hobbit lungs allowed…

"_ENOUGH!_"

Nearby, Grishnakh stopped and turned to look at him. So did the woman, the conductor, the elf, and the blind man, though in his case the term "look" was strictly metaphorical.

"_ENOUGH!_"

When he saw this still wasn't getting the others' attentions, he stormed over and pulled the fire alarm. A loud, ear-splitting ring sounded off, and the rest of the brawlers reeled and covered their ears.

Seeing that the fighting had finally ceased, Merry turned the alarm back off and spoke again.

"What is wrong with you people?" he demanded. "You're supposed to be civilized! You're living in a _society!_ You're not supposed to be running around like this, acting like a bunch of animals, like a bunch of lunatics! No offence to you personally."

Ugluk bared his teeth.

"I know you've all got your little issues, and I understand that! Grishnakh, Ugluk chopped off your cousin's…brother's…relative's head…I'd be mad too! And you guys, the dwarves, you don't like elves! And elves don't like dwarves! You've got your differences! That's cool…or something. And you,"—he looked over at the goblin and paused, trying to think of something to say—"…Right! But these issues aren't important right now! All that's important is that we get out of here!"

The conductor came forward then. "He's right," he said. "Fighting like this isn't going to get the trolley started again! If we want out of here, we're gonna have to cooperate!"

"For how long?" the brown-bearded dwarf asked.

"As long as it takes!" Merry jumped back in. "Keep up with us, man! _Your personal issues aren't important right now._ Remember?"

"Well how are we supposed to get the trolley started?" the blind man asked. "I don't know nothing about electronics. Do any of you?"

"I got hit by lightning once," Grishnakh offered. "I think it was because I had too many bones tied onto my armor."

"It _was_ your armor," Ugluk grumbled.

Grishnakh looked at him oddly. "My armor? What are you, stupid? Armor's supposed to protect you, not electrocute you."

"Is there a chart or something around here?" the elf asked.

The conductor paused in thought for a second, then nodded. "Yeah. I think I've got some schematics in the driver's booth somewhere."

"What about tools?"

"They're in the back of the second car."

Merry started to walk in the given direction. "I'll go get them."

"Okay. You three," the conductor pointed at Grishnakh and the dwarves. "Go look with him. You three," he pointed to Ugluk, the woman, and the dark-haired elf. "Come help me find the schematic. The rest of you, hang tight. See if you can tell where the cables are broken."

The teams split up. Grishnakh and the dwarves stumbled along, all looking unwelcomingly at each other. The orc went ahead of them and walked next to his hobbit acquaintance.

"So we're gonna fix this thing and get out?" he asked Merry.

"No idea," Merry squeaked, still in shock that that little outburst he called a motivational speech had actually worked.

…………………………………………

Soon to be updated…


	21. War of the Electric Tape

(Disclaimer: Not mine)

**What's Up Doc?**

Gimli quickly glanced back at his door as he continued spinning the grinding stone, much faster now than he had earlier that day. His axe was almost completely sharpened, and he'd drunk his last beer about an hour ago, leaving the angry dwarf with nothing to do with his extra strength than spin the wheel harder.

"Come on, you stupid piece of metal!" he growled at his axe. "Sharpen yourself already! I've been doing this forever!"

He stopped spinning for a second and anxiously looked at his wristwatch. He jumped in shock, dropping his axe, and his eyes grew to almost twice their regular size. The three digital numbers on his watch read 5:26.

"Sweet mother of meat!" he exclaimed, and sprang out of his seat. No more time to waste. His axe was sharp enough for now.

* * *

Wormtongue smiled ear-to-ear as he opened the metal, frost-covered cabinet and looked inside. There, hanging in front of him with a handful of other tools, was a crowbar. Eagerly, he snatched it off its hook and hurried over to the storage freezer door.

Gritting his teeth, he jammed the curved end of the metal device into the door crack and pushed sideways, trying to pry it open. The door didn't budge. Grima scowled, and pushed harder on the crowbar, squeezing his eyes shut and leaning his weight on it. Again, the door refused to move.

"Piece of garbage," he grunted. He leaned down so far over the crowbar that he was almost bent in half. "Work!"

But just then, his feet slipped on the increasingly icy floor, and his legs shot backwards, out from under him. Grima went down, landing flat on his face.

Unfortunately, the crowbar remained wedged in the door for a split second after he let go, then finally came loose and came down on his head with a loud 'clank!'

* * *

All nine passengers and the conductor were leaned in over the subway map and trolley schematic on the floor, talking amongst themselves and constantly turning the giant papers back and forth so each person could read them. Knowing it had been hours since Brody had gone to the bathroom, the blind man was careful to keep his guide dog a safe distance away from the papers.

"We're right about here," the conductor said, pointing to a spot on the subway map. "Tunnel 831-B-52. If the cable's broken right above us—which it obviously is—then we're not far enough ahead to just jump onto the next one."

"So how do we get the trolley moving again?" the dark-haired elf asked.

"Well, the trolleys all run on electric currents, and the currents run through the cables. Now, the cable's broken, so the current can't go anywhere, but it's still inside. That's why there's sparks coming out the end. All we have to do is close off the open end and the current'll bounce back and the trolley will start moving in the same direction as it."

"In English?" Ugluk asked impatiently.

"If we put something metal on the end of the cable," the conductor translated, "the trolley will go backwards."

"So we'll end up back at the station where we started?" the Gondorian woman asked.

"Yeah. Does that sit with everyone?" The conductor looked around at all the passengers.

A chorus of 'yeses' immediately sounded out from the mismatched crew.

The brown-bearded dwarf turned the schematic of the trolley towards him. "How're we gonna reach the cables, though? They're over top of the cars."

"That's where we're gonna need a little teamwork. We need two or three people to go up on the roof and tape the thing to the end of the cable. Now, it'd really only take one person to do that, but this is a dangerous situation. One: you'd probably get shocked touching the cables and holding the tools against it. Two: once the cable's blocked off, the trolley's gonna start moving, so there's a chance the person'll get knocked off the top."

He pointed at the space between the trolley roof and tunnel ceiling on the drawing. "Three: there's only sixty-one centimeters of space on top of the trolley. Not much elbow room."

"Well who're the smallest ones here?" the elf asked, looking around.

Almost immediately, everyone's heads turned to look at two people: the goblin, who was already clamoring up to the ceiling on one of the silver poles… and Merry.

* * *

"…But we don't even have gloves or anything," Merry protested as Grishnakh boosted him up through the now empty frame of one of the roof panels. "What if something happens like the guy in charge said?"

"If you fall, the green grease ball up there'll catch ya," Grishnakh said encouragingly, referring to the goblin. "They've got amazing grip, those guys. I saw one of them tear a baby troll's arm off once! Right off, without even a—"

"No," Merry cut in. "I meant with the cables. What if we get electrocuted or something?"

Grishnakh laughed crazily and shook his head, like the hobbit was overreacting to the possibility of getting three thousands volts of electricity shot through him.

"Ahhhh. There's no need to worry about that. I've been hit by lightning before, you know—too much fur on my overcoat, I think was what did it—and it didn't hurt a bit!"

"Really?" Merry suddenly looked hopeful.

Grishnakh put a crooked finger on his chin in thought. "…Actually, no. I think it did. Kinda' felt like that time Shagrat set my foot on fire for having it too close to his bag…no wait, it was worse than that. It was more like something in my head exploded, and then a bunch of maces started jumpin' around inside me, and I was shaking around like this—"

The orc demonstrated by wildly jolting his head and arms back and forth.

"And then my eyeballs got really hot and started spinning around real fast like this—" he crossed his eyes and started rolling them around just as wildly.

"And then I woke up an hour later and someone told me all my hair was gone. Guess it caught fire when I was hit." He shrugged indifferently. "Oh well. But aside from that, it didn't hurt a bit!"

Merry's face was chalk white as he pulled himself the rest of the way up onto the trolley roof.

The goblin was already up there, tilting his head side to side and eyeing the sparking cable like a deranged cat.

"Here's the tape," the brown-bearded dwarf said, standing on his black-bearded friend's shoulders to see out over the roof. He handed Merry a roll of yellow electric tape. "And a wrench. You lads can stick that onto the cable." He sat the tool down and disappeared back into the trolley car.

Merry took the wrench as well, then turned to stare oddly at the goblin. Cautiously, he reached over and snapped his fingers in front of the creature's face.

"Hey," the hobbit said, trying to get his attention. "Wake up. We've got work to do."

The goblin grinned widely and snatched the roll of tape from Merry's hands. "E-he-he-he-he! Work do! Work work!"

"Right," Merry nodded uncomfortably, then looked down into the trolley. "What do we do first?" he called down to the conductor.

"Tear off two pieces of the tape and stick them on the wrench handle!" the man shouted back up. "Have 'em crossing like an 'x.' You know?"

"Okay!"

Merry took the wrench and motioned towards the roll of tape, which the goblin was still clutching tightly in his green hands. "Tear off two pieces," he said.

To his surprise, the goblin suddenly hissed and shrank back. "No!" he snarled. "Is mine!"

Merry blinked. "What? Come on. Tear off two pieces of tape!"

"No!" the green monster snarled again. "Is my tape! Find own, yours!"

"Look, just two pieces, alright? Then you can _marry _the stupid tape for all I care!" Merry impatiently held out his hand. "Just two."

The goblin glowered at him for several seconds, then finally tore off a strip of tape that might have been long enough to wrap around a pencil once. He then tore this piece neatly in two and held it out to the hobbit.

Merry stared down at the nearly-microscopic pieces of yellow tape, and his blood temperature suddenly boiled to a level that many doctors would consider unhealthy. All day. He'd been stuck in a crowded trolley all day, surrounded eight people who were just dying to kill each other, and all the while he'd been dragging a kitchen devise half his weight and height through the subway, and now—when there was finally a chance of getting out of this nightmare and getting home—this smelly little artichoke with legs didn't want to give him any tape.

"Why you slimy—" Merry dove at the goblin, his wrench in hand.

He swung the metal tool at the goblin, who shrieked and leapt to the side. Then, with a hard swing of his own arm, the creature clocked Merry on the head with his roll of tape. The hobbit let out a painful yelp, then spun around and tried to grab the yellow adhesive device.

He was successful.

"Let go!" the goblin shouted, tugging at the roll.

"No! You let go!" Merry shouted back, and tried once again to hit his adversary with the wrench in his free hand. He missed, and the goblin only clutched his prize tighter.

"Wow," said the brown-bearded dwarf to his friend as he caught a glimpse of the two struggling above their heads. "I didn't think the wires would give 'em _that _much trouble."

"_Garbla nach yen!_" the black-bearded dwarf agreed.

Merry made another effort to yank the tape from the goblin's hands, but the creature's grip held fast. The hobbit looked around frantically. If he could just distract his opponent long enough to…

He pointed over the goblin's shoulder suddenly. "Look!" he yelled. "Something shiny!"

"Where!" The goblin spun his head around to look. Merry threw his wrench hand back, preparing to knock him out of his senses.

…And unintentionally jammed the metal tool straight into the end of the broken cable.

_ZZZZZZZZZZZZTTT!_

A long blue spark shot from the cable, zapping the two and sending up an explosion of black smoke. With a startling lurch, the trolley jerked backwards and began sailing down the tracks, back the way it had come hours ago. The force sent Merry and the goblin flying forward, and together they tumbled through the open ceiling panel.

The other passengers screamed in unison as the two hit the trolley floor with a heavy _thud!_ The goblin immediately sprang to his feet—tape still in hand—and leapt onto the nearest silver pole. Unfortunately, he received another, equally nasty shock on contact with it, and fell to the floor with a shriek. He huddled in the middle of the isle with dinner plate-sized eyes.

Grishnakh leaned curiously over Merry, who still lay motionless on the floor.

"Hey," he called down to him. "You alright?"

Merry's face was black with soot, and his hair was sticking straight out, but he was grinning ear-to-ear.

"You're right," he said. "It didn't hurt a bit."

……………………………………………………………………………..

Sorry this update took so long; my English teacher's really been piling the homework on this year.


	22. Success at Last

(Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't own a thing.)

**What's Up Doc?**

The bathroom door creaked softly as Pippin opened it a hair and squinted out into the living room. He could hear the deafening crashing of pots and pans from the kitchen beside him as Gollum continued his insane rampage through the hobbits' apartment, and cringed slightly at the thought of what kind of mess he would find there later, as well as how he would explain it to Sam.

"We teaches it, Precious!" Gollum shrieked in the other room as he yanked out the silverware drawer and thrust a scrawny arm into the empty space. "We teaches it to charge for the toothpicks! Free sampleses is free sampleses! And so is the free toyses inside cereal boxes! 'Free,' they says! '_Free!_' Teach them to calls us thief!"

Pippin opened the bathroom door wider, crouching slightly to avoid any possible flying forks or knives. He didn't know what to do with Gollum; the old hobbit-like creature was clearly too far-gone to reason with now. And he didn't know how he and the other hobbits were going to get back into their apartment with the deranged Celexa addict still there. All Pippin knew right then was that he wanted to get the heck out of this place, and that there were no obstacles between him and the door…

* * *

Gimli staggered down the hallway, tearing a long hole in the carpeting as he dragged his axe on the floor behind him. He was only a few meters away from the hobbits' door now. Only a few meters away from the money.

He tripped over his sandal straps suddenly, but just grunted in his typical dwarven manner and began running. He came to a halt in front of the hobbits' apartment, paused to adjust his grip on the axe, and reached out to knock on the door.

Inside, Pippin flung the bathroom door open fully and sprang from his little shelter, swinging his elbows madly to propel himself further.

CRASH!

Pippin winced as he knocked the phone receiver from its place on the wall. Still attached by its spiral chord, the phone swung into the kitchen through the little inside "window" and toppled over a stack of cookie sheets that had been sitting on the counter. Gollum snarled as the stack met the top of his head, and he immediately leapt up onto the counter to glare at Pippin.

There was no turning back now. Pippin bolted for the apartment door as Gollum jumped down into the living room behind him. Heart racing, the young hobbit grabbed the doorknob and yanked open the door.

Then he froze.

There stood Gimli, eyes blazing with scorching anger and drunken lunacy, with his battle-axe raised high over his head. The dwarf's red beard and mustache stood straight out on end as he let out a deep challenging roar and began to lunge forward.

Pippin spun around to run the opposite way, but was rooted in place again as he met eyes with Gollum. With another cry of "_It's free!_", the creature sprang into the air and sailed forward, oblivious to Gimli's presence behind his target.

For Pippin, time nearly froze. If he went one way, he would be skewered by Gimli's axe. But if he went the other way, he would be ripped to shreds by Gollum. He had nowhere to turn. So, as a last-minute thought, he chose not to turn at all.

Instead, he chose to duck.

"AAAAAAAAAAHHH!" screamed Gimli, stopping his axe in mid-swing.

"AAAAAAAAAAHHH!" screamed Gollum, wind milling his arms and legs in the air.

"AAAAAAAAAAHHH!" screamed Pippin, not wanting to feel left out.

_Clunk!_ went Gimli and Gollum's foreheads against each other.

_Thump!_ went their unconscious bodies on the hallway floor.

Pippin stared at his two attackers in disbelief. How the heck had he managed to pull _that_ off? He'd just taken out two bad guys without even a moment's thought! He'd actually survived!

Had it been up to him, Pippin would have run clear out of the building right then and gone to the grocery store to hide in one of the empty checkout booths. Unfortunately, he still had orders from Sam to keep Gollum from leaving the apartment, so he reluctantly grabbed the former hobbit by the ankles and dragged him back inside. He left Gimli lying in the hallway, simply closing and locking the apartment door to keep him out. With a heavy sigh of relief, Pippin leaned back against the coffee table and sank down to the floor.

Just then, Gollum stirred slightly in his temporary coma and kicked lightly at the air with his right leg.

"Nasty chips," he mumbled groggily.

Pippin squealed with fright and quickly dove back into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

* * *

Sam was clutching his sandy blonde curls so tightly in his fists that he could have torn them out of his scalp, and his face was scrunched up so much that a passerby could have mistaken him for an oversized Pekinese. _One more paragraph_. That was all he needed. _Three measly little sentences that formed a conclusion_. But try as he might, he couldn't bring a single satisfying word to mind for his speech.

Another minute passed, then he lowered his hands and glanced up at the clock on his office wall. Now there was only one more hour until quitting time. Sam looked down at his note cards once more, then got up and walked out of his office and into the open hallway. He couldn't stand to be inside that cramped little room for another second; not under this kind of strain.

Seeing that the hallway was empty, Sam took an opportunity to lean back against the opposite wall and sink to the floor in a drained state of frustration.

Why was he being like this? It was like Elrond said: writing his speech didn't have to be nearly as stressful as he was making it. But still, there was a part pf the hobbit that wanted that message scribbled on his papers to reach every listener personally, to make each one of them feel the same pride from working at this hospital that he did, and to make that prideful feeling remain with them long after the ten seconds of applause following his speech died down. Sam, in a basic sense of putting good thoughts into great words, wanted his speech to work.

He could hear something just then, coming from the air conditioning vent beside him. The horizontal slits were giving off their usual humming noise, but there was something extra mixed in with that hum this time; leaning over to hold an ear up to the vent, Sam was almost certain that he could hear words coming from the duct.

"I've got to get out…" they said, fading in and out. "Got to get out and into the halls. I've got to get out of this room and be free! Free again! And then I will achieve my task! I've got to get out!"

Sam sat back, confused. What the heck was that? And what on Middle Earth did those words mean? "I've got to get out of this room and be free?" Was it a patient he was hearing?

And then a new light appeared in Sam's eye at that moment. That message…it was perfect! The words of a patient, wanting to get out of his room fully recovered and walk down the hallway to freedom outside where he could continue on with his life. This was a dream that every patient at St. Radagast Hospital shared, and that dream was made possible every day…by the doctors who worked there!

Creative juices up and running once again, Sam leapt top his feet and dove back into his office to finish his speech. The voice from the air conditioning duct, however, continued its seemingly philosophical rambling.

"I've got to get out of this nightmare on ice! I'm going to break down this cursed door, and then I'm going to hack into the first computer I find, and then I'm going to find, track down, and clobber that Samuel Smith if it's the last thing I do, or my name isn't Grima Wormtongue…Johnson…whatever! OW! Stupid crowbar. I hate this place!"

…………………………………………………

On to Chapter 23!


	23. The Glorious Minds of Hobbits

(Disclaimer: Not mine)

**What's Up Doc?**

Frodo's idea was simple. And once every one of the other customers in the Laundromat had gathered around him—a detail that had managed to go unnoticed by the man behind the counter—he explained it to them all. And then, as the hopeless owner turned his back to retrieve a ball of lint from his right ear, Frodo put his plan into effect with a single command.

"_CHARGE!_"

The man behind the counter turned back around at the cry, but was immediately met in the face by a flying ukulele (courtesy of a high-strung elf patron with tie-dyed hair), and toppled backwards in a dazed heap. It was just as well that he did so, as an entire wall of half-crazed customers leapt over his counter a second later.

Frodo was at the head of the screaming mob, and dove straight for the giant clothing rack near the back of the room. He could see Merry's suit hanging on it. Almost positive that he could hear "Chariots of Fire" playing in the midst of the rampage, he eagerly reached out and grabbed it.

Right behind him, a she-elf sprang forward and swiped a pair of jeans off the rack. Closely following her was a mangy-looking Wild Man who reclaimed an equally mangy-looking fur outfit of some kind, and a balding dwarf who retrieved a black leather bikini with the words "Kiss me in the dark, baby" inscribed on the top piece in gold ancient runes.

"What?" the dwarf asked defensively as Frodo and several others sent him a wary look. "It's my mother-in-law's!"

Accepting this explanation, the customers began racing around the clothing rack, in search of their newly dry-cleaned clothes.

It was at this time that the Laundromat owner regained consciousness and rose angrily from the floor to break up the rebellion.

"You get back in front of the counter!" he shouted. "I haven't called your numbers yet!"

Seeing him, Frodo bounded over to the man, effortlessly tore the ticket dispenser from the countertop, and forcefully introduced it to its owner's face. The man collapsed in an unconscious heap once more.

Frodo then gripped the little red machine in his teeth and hoisted himself on top of the clothing rack to stand above the others' heads. Then he took the ticket dispenser in his hands and held it high over his head.

"Victory!" he shouted. "We have victory!"

Cheers erupted from all the other customers, and Frodo responded by pulling random dry-cleaned clothes from the rack and tossing them to their waving owners. As he did so, he also managed to single out and collect his, Sam's, and Pippin's suits. His mission had been accomplished.

After making sure that his followers would be able to complete their task without him, Frodo then climbed down from the clothing rack, his four suits in hand, and strode nobly to the door. A silence fell over the other customers, and all eyes turned to gaze in awe at the hobbit who had changed their lives at the cheap Laundromat forever.

Frodo held up his hands, flashing twin "V for Victory" signals, then picked up what remained of his groceries and walked out the door to the real world once again.

* * *

Pippin couldn't stand it in the bathroom anymore. Too terrified of leaving his tiny fortress, and unable to access his "Planet of the Orcs" action figures, he'd been preoccupying himself by drawing on the walls with toothpaste and weaving dental floss for the past hour. Now he was certain that if he stayed in that bright white room for another second, he was going to become as batty as Gollum.

Holding his breath, Pippin placed an ear to the hole that had been punched in the door and listened intently for some sign that Gollum was being preoccupied outside. But to his surprise, the sound he heard was neither clanking pots nor breaking dishes.

It was crying.

Pippin carefully opened the door and peeked out across the apartment. There was Gollum, sitting on the living room floor, wailing and sniffling as he covered his eyes. Slowly, Pippin edged his way out of the bathroom and crawled closer.

"Smeagol?" he asked softly. He wasn't quite sure how to react to this newest emotional breakdown. "What's wrong?"

Gollum sobbed loudly and responded, "He's dead."

Pippin looked dazed suddenly. "Who is?"

Gollum buried his face further out of sight as he pointed into the corner with a shaking finger.

Leaning forward as much as he could without taking another step, Pippin squinted into the corner and saw the cause of the drama. Lying face-up in the corner, with its legs tucked up against its underside, was a small black beetle.

"He's _dead!_" Gollum bawled again. "He got his leg caught in a spider web and he couldn't get out to find food. And it's an _old _spider web, Precious! That stupid, selfish spider was too lazy to clean it up before he left, and now someone's dead because of it!"

The scrawny creature then proceeded to blow his nose into one of the flaps of his loincloth.

Pippin shook his head slightly. "It's just a bug, Smeagol."

Gollum immediately lifted his head and glared fiercely at the young hobbit.

"Nothing's just a bug!" he said sharply. His bloodshot eyes shifted to something behind Pippin and he pointed irately. "And we suppose you think _that's_ just a stapler!"

Pippin followed Gollum's direction and spotted a red office stapler lying on the floor in the kitchen.

"Isn't it?" he asked, puzzled.

"We looked inside that stapler," Gollum continued with a trembling voice. "And…it's _empty!_" He blew his nose again, much harder than the first time. "Some other stapler took more staples than it needed, and there wasn't enough left for _that _one!"

Then Gollum buried his face back in his hands and turned away from Pippin.

A look of pity appeared on the hobbit's face at this, and he crouched down to put himself at Gollum's eye level. There was something strangely likeable about this creature, as deranged and emotionally unstable as he was, and Pippin really did hate to see him like this.

"Uh, Smeagol?" he spoke up timidly. "Maybe you'll feel better if you go under the couch for a little while. You know, to calm down?"

Gollum suddenly threw his head back and began bawling even louder than before, sending Pippin tumbling back onto his rear in shock.

"You're trying to throw us out!" Gollum whimpered as he lowered his head to the carpet. "You're just like our relatives, Precious!"

"No I'm not!" Pippin said with as much sincerity as he could muster. "I just want you to go chill out for a couple minutes and come back out again when you feel better, while your relatives _never_ wanted to see you again."

Pippin regretted these words the moment he said them, and Gollum let out a wail so loud that the younger hobbit was certain he heard a window shatter somewhere.

"I'm sorry!" he yelled frantically, holding up his hands in what he hoped was a calming gesture. "I didn't mean it! Really! Please don't do that! Please?"

After omitting another ear-splitting squeak, Gollum held up a fist and quickly punched himself in the face. Pippin stared awkwardly as the bony figure toppled over woozily, then sat up again, temporarily pacified.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "So…what happened with you and your relatives anyway?" he asked.

Gollum sighed and sadly picked his ear. "We found the Precious. Well, actually, our cousin Deagol found the Precious, and we sort of had to…uh…do this sort of, uh, thing to him to take it."

"You killed him?" Pippin asked.

"Not on purpose!" Gollum said back defensively. "And he started it anyway!"

He sighed again and reached into one of the pockets in his loincloth. After fishing around for a moment, he retrieved an old black-and-white photo and handed it to Pippin, who accepted the picture as if it was a dead cockroach. How long had this thing been in that loincloth?

"Anyway, this is a picture of him," Gollum explained. "Deagol's the one on the left."

Pippin studied the picture curiously. "Who's the guy next to him?"

"That's us, Precious."

Pippin looked up in amazement. "This is _you_?" he echoed. "Wow! You've lost a lot of hair!"

This was another comment that he immediately regretted saying.

Gollum launched back into his high-pitched crying and covered his head with his hands.

"We have!" he sobbed. "We've lost it all, Precious! We used to look like a hobbit, but now we're bald, and skinny, and we doesn't wear anything but a loincloth! And the cruel men at Eat'n Park won't let us go in! 'No shirt, no service,' they says!"

Gollum dove over to Pippin, then grabbed him by the collar and shook him wildly back and forth as he screamed "_No shirt, no service!_" a second time.

It was then that Pippin got a somewhat brilliant idea. It might be a little tricky to pull off, and he'd never actually witnessed the effects that such a plan would have on someone, but he had a crazy notion in his dusty flowerpot of a head that it was going to work. One thing he did know was that for the past week, life for his three friends in this little apartment had been an absolute nightmare, and there might be a way to make it all right once and for all.

He cleared his throat.

"Hey Smeagol?"

Gollum, who was now lying on his back still crying hysterically about Eatin' Park, looked up at him miserably. "What?"

"Are you hungry by any chance?"

"We doesn't know. A little, we guess."

Pippin leaned closer with a playful gleam in his eye.

"Want some ice cream?"

* * *

Soon to be updated... 


	24. A Shocking Discovery

(Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't own a thing.)

**What's Up Doc?**

Frodo was beaming as he approached the front door of the Shire Apartment Complex. He'd made it home in one piece, and even with all four suits most of his groceries! For the first time in this miserably long day, things were looking up.

With a little more cheer than he could control, Frodo pressed the round yellow button by the door and listened to the soft buzzing sound that it set off inside. A second later, Gandalf's voice boomed from the speaker in front of the hobbit.

"Who's there?" the familiar tone asked.

"It's Frodo!" he piped optimistically. The sound of a car engine behind him made him turn around, and he was greeted with the sight of the C-Bird pulling up to the sidewalk to Parallel Park. "Sam's here too," he added.

"Alright, the door's open, Frodo," was Gandalf's reply. "I'm closing up my office for the day."

Frodo watched Sam emerge from his car with an uncharacteristic playing across his face. The two of them met eyes brightly.

"What's gotten into you?" Frodo asked cheerfully.

"I finished it," Sam answered. "Four-minute speech, six note cards, all set and ready for tonight!"

"Sounds like stressing out around the clock paid off after all," Frodo commented coolly, then pulled open the door to the apartment building and went inside. Sam followed him, sighing with relief.

And then he sniffed.

"…Frodo?" he asked oddly.

His dark-haired friend looked back at him. "What?"

Sam wrinkled his nose slightly with disgust. "You smell that?"

Frodo paused with confusion, then lit up as he remembered. "Oh! It's me! Or the groceries. Or maybe even the suits."

"What happened?"

"Let's just say I was at the Laundromat a little longer that I should've been," was the only response Frodo felt like giving. He'd decided the minute he'd walked out of that foul smelling riot house that he was going to put forth every effort to erase the events of that afternoon from his memory forever.

Somehow feeling it was best to leave the details at that, Sam followed Fordo into the elevator without a word. After pressing all the necessary buttons, they stood back and waited as the tiny compartment began to rise.

"You have the speech memorized?" Frodo asked.

"I know it well enough," Sam responded. "I'll be allowed to have my notes with me anyways." He glanced down at the four suits that Frodo had tucked under his arm. "Think we can get that smell out in time?"

"Oh, stop looking for things to worry about, Sam!" Frodo laughed suddenly. "If Elrond says anything, I'll tell him what happened."

"But you won't tell me?"

"You don't want to know. Trust me."

Sam nodded and smirked again as he looked up at the ceiling. "You're right," he said casually. "I've stressed myself out enough this week. The last thing I need is something else to worry about."

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Somehow, Sam and Frodo knew from the moment they stepped off the elevator and saw Gimli's bloated, drooling form lying unconscious at the end of the hallway with an axe nearby that something wasn't right. This slight concern was then confirmed when they stepped over his motionless bulk and opened the door to their apartment.

"_We casts the spells that blows them upses! WOOOO!_"

Sam stared with wide eyes. Frodo nearly dropped his bag of groceries. Gimli continued drooling.

"_Smeagol?_" Frodo asked, dumbfounded.

There was the withered old creature, thin and gangly…bouncing wildly up and down on the couch with his eyes bugged out to the extreme and a grimy mop-head strapped to his head like a wig. Pippin sat beside the couch in Sam's chair, clapping and whooping as he waved his black baseball cap in the air.

"Oh! Hey guys!" the youngest hobbit chirped when he saw them in the doorway. "We were waiting for you!"

Before either Frodo or Sam could ask the first of many puzzled questions, Gollum leapt off of the couch and half bounded, half rolled over to them.

"Look, Master!" he shouted, grabbing a handful of mop strings with one of his sharply twitching hands. "We's Avril Lavigne!"

"…Why?" Frodo managed to ask.

Instead of answering, if he had even understood the question, Gollum threw his fists up into the air and let out another loud "_WOOOO!_" Then he leapt back onto the couch and resumed his bouncing. Frodo watched in stunned confusion as the taut, brand-new seat cushions sent Gollum's light figure hurtling so high into the air that he nearly hit the ceiling.

Sam was able to recover just a little quicker. "What's wrong with him?" he asked Pippin.

"Wrong with him?" Pippin echoed. "He's just fine! There's nothing wrong with being a little happy!"

"That's not even a little psychotic," Sam pointed out as he watched the high-strung acrobatic playing out in his living room. "What happened to him?"

Pippin sat up a little straighter in his chair and grinned. "I gave him the morphine."

All the confusion of the moment completely drained from Sam's face. "What?"

"I gave him the morphine!" Pippin repeated, unaware of the impact that his words were having on his older roommate. "Well, I told him it was ice cream 'cause I figured he wouldn't let me give him 'morphine.' It was all frozen inside the containers. He ate it with a spoon! And I—"

"Are you INSANE!" Sam shouted, barely able to keep himself from tackling Pippin to the floor. "Why would you do that!"

The younger hobbit nearly fell out of his seat from this unexpected outburst. "Because I wanted to help!" he said defensively. "You wanted to get rid of the morphine, he wanted to be back on medication, and I wanted to live! I thought I'd make us all happy!"

"Pippin, I didn't want to get rid of the morphine," Sam groaned as he sagged his shoulders heavily. "I wanted the hospital to take it all back so we wouldn't have it in the house anymore!"

"Well _there's_ some fine print!"

"Look, hobbitses," Gollum cackled inaudibly from the couch. "There's a piece of lint on the floor." He was barely able to keep himself from tumbling out of his seat as he wrapped his arms around his waist. "A piece of _lint!_"

"How come there's nothing in any of these Pepsi cans?" Frodo interrupted from the other side of the room. "None of them're even opened!"

"I had to give him the morphine, Sam," Pippin went on. "He's an emotional wreck without it! Now, you told me that morphine's like ale. Ale always makes me feel better, so I thought morphine would make him feel better, and it did."

"How much did you give him?" Sam asked.

"All of it."

"ALL of it!"

"Sam, you had to have seen him!" Pippin pressed. "He was crying hysterically about a bug in a spider web!"

This got Frodo's attention.

"He was?" There was a much angrier tone in his voice when he continued. "Oh, I see! So he cries when a bug's caught in a web, but he laughs and sings songs when _I'm_ caught in one!"

His rant was cut short when Gollum crawled up to him and wrapped his thing arms around Frodo's leg. With ogling, crossed eyes, the former hobbit looked up at his master's face.

"Don't be sad, Master," he said in what sounded like a drunken slur. "Smeagol loves you no matter how poorly your eyes fit in their sockets."

"Get off me," Frodo said flatly as he shoot his foot, trying to get Gollum off of his leg.

Sam paid the scene no mind. "And Merry didn't stop you from giving it to him?"

"Merry's not here," Pippin said strangely. "He hasn't been home since he left to…err…do his paper rout."

"He hasn't?" Sam asked, also puzzled to hear this.

"I haven't seen him all day."

"Where in the name of Eru could he go?"

Neither Frodo nor Pippin offered an answer. There was a brief pause before Sam ran a hand down his face and started to pace. "What are we gonna do about the dinner party?" he asked quietly.

"Merry's no idiot," Frodo said. "I'm sure he's fine. He'll just come home and take a bus to the place."

"But what about the Stinker?" Sam said back. "We've gotta get him to the hospital."

"We can't," Frodo shook his head. "It's in the completely opposite direction of where we're going. You've got to be there on time, Sam."

"Then someone'll have to watch him while we're gone."

"I could do it," Frodo offered.

Sam shook his head. "No, no! I've got to have you there with me! I'll get nervous without someone there for support! Maybe Gimli could watch him. We could try waking him up!"

"Are you crazy?" Pippin demanded with panic. "I don't want him coming to and going back into psycho-killer mode on me again!"

"And Gandalf just left," Frodo mumbled.

Sam looked from him to Gollum, who was still on the floor, now attempting to lick his elbow.

"Well we _can't_ bring him _with_ us!"

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"How, how, HOW did I get talked into this one?" Sam demanded as he stared at the speeding car in front of him.

"There was nothing else we could do," Frodo answered from the passenger's seat.

In their panic and haste to get moving, the three hobbits had managed to drag Gimli back into his apartment and haul Gollum out of the building and into the C-Bird. Sitting next to Pippin in the back seat, Gollum was oblivious to the conversation in front of him.

"'_Cause you're once! Twice! Three times a ladysssss!_" he squawked happily.

"Couldn't you have at least found him a nicer shirt?" Sam asked.

"What? He likes this one," Pippin pointed out. "He _loves Minas Tirith_!"

"Fine. At least his shirt smells normal. These suits are killing me!"

Frodo was about to remind his sandy-haired friend to calm down, when Gollum saw this moment as his big chance to take his miniature concert on the road. Inadvertently opening his window, the creature stood up on his seat and leaned outside up to his waist.

"_On the wings of loooooooove, only the two of us together flying hiiiiiiiiiiigh!_"

"Get back in here!" Frodo and Sam shouted in unison. Pippin dove across the seat and quickly yanked the off-key wannabe star back into the car.

Frodo sighed wearily. "We're almost there, Sam," he said.

"Hey Master!" Gollum leaned into the front seat with a disturbing light in his eyes. "Have you ever…been to Chichi's?"

Frodo stared at his for several seconds, then answered "Yes," as calmly as he could.

Gollum shrieked and sprang back. "Oh Master!" he squealed with terror. "It's far braver than we ever thought it could be!"

Sam growled with frustration. "Where's Merry?"

"_Hick!_" Pippin squeaked in response.

--


	25. How to Get Rid of Unwanted Things

(Disclaimer: I don't own LotR or any of it's characters. Love them to death, but I don't own them.:) )

**What's Up Doc?**

"All we are saaaaaying…"

"—Come together!"

"—is give peace a chance! All we are saaaaaying…"

"All come together!"

"—is give peace a chaaaaance!"

The trolley car filled with the deafening whooping and applause of the conductor and his nine passengers an instant after their song ended. Indeed, they had all given much consideration to the heart-felt Lennon lyrics. The two dwarves were sitting with the dark-haired elf between them, their ancestor-driven racial dispute forgotten in the celebration. Likewise, Ugluk had managed to set aside his animosity towards every other person on the trolley, and was calmly seated by the window as he clapped, unaware that the goblin and the seeing-eye dog were currently taking turns urinating on his left boot.

Across the isle from them, Grishnakh cheered and cackled loudly a final time, then turned his attention to Merry again.

"This is even better than filming bootlegs!" the orc crowed as he grinned ear-to-ear. "I should film _this_ to sell on the streets!"

"Where's your camera?" the hobbit asked, peering around his strange new acquaintance.

Grishnakh paused in thought for a second, then slapped himself painfully in the forehead. "I can't believe it!" he shouted. "I didn't even bring the crazy thing! Now I've gotta go all the way back to my card table and get it!"

Merry nodded slowly, having a very good feeling that the orc wasn't going to find his cam quarter sitting in plain sight where he'd left it. But Grishnakh, too far gone mentally, shook his head in amusement at his forgetfulness and turned his attention to the giant cardboard box that the hobbit had placed on his lap once more.

"What is that thing, anyway?" he asked. "You've been guarding it like you were expecting money to shoot out of it or something."

Merry patted the top of the box. "It's a microwave," he explained indifferently. "You put food inside it, and set the timer, and the machine heats it up super-fast with radiation waves."

Grishnakh stared down at him stupidly with wide blue eyes.

"You can blow things up in it," Merry said then in a much simpler tone.

"Sweet! That sounds like one heck of a machine!"

Merry smiled back at the orc, then suddenly saw his chance. "You know what?" he went on. "You can have it."

Now Grishnakh's eyes were close to popping out of their sockets as they widened with even more wonder. "Really?"

"Oh yeah!" the hobbit said insistently, holding out the cardboard burden. "Go on, take it! I didn't pay a cent for it either!"

"Wow, thanks!" the orc gasped, and eagerly accepted the well-traveled appliance. He paused for a moment, jiggling his legs impatiently, then finally tore open the flaps and heaved the microwave out of its box with the same excitement that a starving warg might show if diving into a Chicken Delight truck.

Merry was beaming just as brightly as he sat back in his own seat.

Mission accomplished.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wormtongue was an absolute wreck. Plagued for hours by sub-zero cold and exhausting toil (as well as a mild case of trauma-induced dementia), he was wheezing loudly and shivering violently from head to toe. To make matters worse, a thin layer of frost had formed all over him, and he could no longer sit down, as the hazy mist billowing from the room's air vents had frozen all of his garments block-solid.

Eyes bulging, the mad doctor yanked his treacherous crowbar—which had fused to his hand from the cold many hours ago—out of his grasp and threw it down stiffly. Then straightening himself to his full height, he glowered irately at the storage freezer door and prepared for his final showdown.

"_These walls_…" he bellowed, "…_must BE BREECHED!_"

Then with an ear-splitting battle cry, he lunged forward.

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Working the night shift was never widely desired by the hospital staff, and it was particularly despised tonight, as the individuals working at that hour were missing out on St. Radagast's twenty-fifth anniversary party in addition to a good night's rest. Even so, those said doctors all graciously refrained from complaining; they knew just as well as everyone else that people always got injured, regardless of whether or not the hospital was open.

Gamling was thinking this glumly to himself as he nudged his loaded supply cart down the hallway in front of him. Over the past two hours, the night staff had received countless medicine containers from their off-duty coworkers, all of who were beyond thrilled to be rid of their entrusted hospital supplies. And now, the former soldier of Rohan was going to place those frozen containers back in storage where they belonged.

"I should've listened to my cousin and stayed in the army," he mumbled as he turned the cart sideways and brought it to a halt in front of the freezer door. Glancing up at the hall clock, he sighed and pulled down the metal handle…

Time suddenly felt slower. The freezer door was slowly tugged open, and Wormtongue sailed sluggishly through the air, both feet now off the ground as he launched himself at his one barrier. Gamling's eyes slowly bugged out as he caught sight of the ice-covered figure flying towards him, and the half-crazed hospital escapee reacted similarly.

And then time sped up again.

"_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!_" Wormtongue squealed.

"_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!_" Gamling screeched, and dove to the side.

An instant later, Wormtongue came down on top of the supply cart, which—provoked by this sudden momentum—immediately rolled off, taking its passenger with it.

Containers flew from the top of the cart, some tumbling harmlessly to the side, others rolling on the linoleum floor in front of the makeshift vehicle. Grima flailed his arms uselessly as he lifted his head to see forward. Gamling just stared at the unbelievable scene unfolding in front of him with utter dismay.

And that was when the supply cart completed its short little journey across the hallway…and reached the stairwell.

"_AAAA_-AAAA-_AAAA_-AAAA-_AAAA_-AAHH!" Wormtongue screamed even louder as he rode bouncily down the steps, throwing his arms in front of his face to cover his eyes.

The CRASH! that echoed up from the landing of the stairwell signaled to Gamling that the incident was over. Shakily, he hurried over to the steps and nervously peered down.

"Owww…" Wormtongue groaned from five meters below him.

Gamling smirked and nodded to himself. _That _certainly never happened in the army!

--

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Soon to be updated…


	26. Gollum Unleashed

(Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. Bummer.)

**What's Up Doc?**

The drive had been almost an hour long. Sam was rarely one to be optimistic these days, but even he had to admit that, aside from Gollum's attempt to jump out the C-Bird's rear window with his rendition of "On The Wings Of Love," the trip had gone rather smoothly. However, the hobbit's bright outlook on their situation was doomed to be short-lived, and it toppled over like Gimli's cardboard bookshelf only minutes after he crossed the threshold into the Radagast Hospital's twenty-fifth anniversary dinner party.

"Will you stop that already?" Sam demanded, tugging at Gollum's sleeve as the scrawny creature made another furtive reach for the snack table. "You're gonna clean off the whole table at the rate you're swiping cheese cubes!"

Gollum whirled around just then, his mouth already stuffed to its limit with the little cheddar bites and their coinciding toothpicks, to stare up in Sam's general direction.

"HAW!" he blasted, barely audible. "Fink 'oo can get the wrebel bafe frum uff? We'll haff 'oo know Fmeagol haff a miiiiind of fsteeeeeel!" And then he glared over at a nearby flowery wall decoration and growled loudly, trying to intimidate it. Toothpicks and flecks of cheese flew out of his mouth in all directions.

Sam just rolled his eyes.

Throughout this bizarre exchange, Frodo and Pippin had both been standing at Sam's side, trying to observe Gollum from a slight distance. Concerned friend or not, even Frodo didn't want to be too close to the shrunken hobbit when he was in this half-crazed condition. The sight of Smeagol stuffing his face was just one of those revolting displays that the dark-haired hobbit would have liked nothing more than to permanently forget— second only to the site of a cave troll being sick. Cringing, Frodo diverted his gaze and glanced off to his left.

Just then, a slightly older hobbit woman noticed the group of four in the crowd. She recognized Sam instantly, as she worked as a nurse in the same wing of the hospital, and broke out into a smile as she waddled over to him.

"Samwise?" she called out curiously.

Sam immediately came to life when he turned to see the person addressing him. "Oh! Esmerelda, hi!"

"I was starting to wonder if you were even coming tonight!" the bubbly she-hobbit laughed. "It's not like you to be so late."

"We got held up a little," Sam said, glancing away slightly. He quickly snapped out of his dark flashback of that afternoon and motioned to his companions. "These are two of my roommates, Pippin and Frodo. Guys, this is Esmerelda."

Pippin waved awkwardly, still more preoccupied with Gollum than this new visitor. Esmerelda returned the brief gesture, then turned her intrigue to Frodo.

"You look familiar," she said, pointing at him in thought.

The former Ring bearer shrugged. "Well, I used to live in the Shire."

"…Baggins," she guessed, jabbing her finger triumphantly.

He smiled and nodded. "Yeah!"

Gollum suddenly burst out in a nauseating fit of laughter.

Frodo looked down at him oddly. "What's so funny?" he asked in an ever-patient voice.

Gollum's face warped into a scrunched up grin. "Shire…_BAGGINS!_" Then he threw himself backwards, almost doubled over, and began cackling at his own deranged thoughts.

Esmerelda's friendly beam faded slightly.

"I see Mr. Brandybuck has changed somewhat since our last meeting," a heavier voice said dryly from behind the group.

Sam was willing to overlook the sarcastic comment. "Hey, Mr. Elrond!"

The former lord of Rivendell nodded dully in response, keeping his wary eyes on Gollum. "It's nice to see that you made it, Samwise. But…stop me if I'm wrong…" He motioned to the scrawny creature. "Is this not the same fellow that we had to ban from the hospital on Monday for _disorderly conduct_?"

This question had gone unheard for Gollum's part, as he was still preoccupied with screaming his two torturous words at the ceiling.

Sam cringed. "Yeah, that's him."

"What is he doing here?"

Pippin decided to answer that. "Well, we didn't want to leave him alone at the apartment 'cause he's loaded on—"

"He needed a night out," Frodo cut Pippin off, not wanting to tell Elrond that he now had two less liters of morphine in his inventory. "Staying in doors for too long makes him go crazy."

Elrond arched a single tweezed eyebrow as Gollum toppled onto the floor in a fit of giggles. "So I see," he said flatly.

And just then, two more figures came ambling up to the odd company. One of them was a chestnut-haired elf, and the other was a blonde Rohirrim man; they were equipped with a tripod and an Instamatic camera.

"Are you Dr. Undomiel?" the elf asked the tallest member of the awkward group.

Elrond snapped out of his worried trance in an instant. "Why yes! Yes I am," he said brightly. He shook their hands eagerly. "You two must be with the _Lorien Times_."

"Yes we are," the man grunted, sitting down his tripod. "How 'bout all of you posing for a shot?"

"Sure." Elrond motioned the hobbits standing around him to move in closer.

Sam and Frodo, however, turned their attentions nervously over to Gollum instead. They paused in thought for a second, wondering what to do with their unruly charge, then exchanged knowing glances. With that, Frodo reluctantly hoisted the skinny creature to his feet and led him over to a nearby row of chairs against the wall.

"Now, Smeagol—Smeagol!" he said quickly, trying to get the other's attention. Gollum seemed more interested in looking at an onion ring that had been dropped on the floor beside him.

Frodo tapped him on the shoulder anxiously. "Smeagol! Listen to me. I've gotta go back over there with Sam and Pippin for two seconds, and then we'll all come back here. Two seconds, alright? You just stay right here. Can you do that?"

Gollum glanced over at his former master with vague recognition. "We doesn't eats nasty chips," he said impatiently, left eye twitching.

The dark-haired hobbit stared at him blankly for a final moment. Then he nodded once and patted Gollum on the shoulder. "Let's keep it that way," he advised. This said, he got up and made his way back over to the rest of the group.

For about five seconds, Smeagol was obedient. He sat in his seat, swinging his legs and looking around like an antsy toddler, as he waited for the hobbits to come back. But as he sat there, alone and unseen, _it_ came to him.

The sweet, pungent aroma…of _fish_.

Gollum's eyes began twitching even worse than before. He smelled _fish_! They were serving _fish_! There was _fish_ in the building! _He had to find the fish!_

"So they're gonna put that picture of us in the newspaper?" Pippin asked with excitement.

"I don't know, maybe," Sam said indifferently. The hobbit trio had left Elrond and Esmerelda behind to chat with each other, feeling it was best to avoid as many awkward conversations as possible tonight. He glanced at Frodo. "So where'd you leave the Stinker?"

The third hobbit pointed. "Right over—" And then he stopped.

It was hard for Sam to tell, as Frodo's eyes were always bulging partially out of their sockets to begin with, but at that exact moment, he was sure he saw them grow even larger. Hesitantly, he followed his older roommate's gaze.

"Over where?" he asked.

Frodo's expression dimmed considerably. "Over here…"

For one minute, the three hobbits stood there in front of the empty chair, sharing a blank, wet stare. Then slowly, they turned to gaze at each other, and taking in a deep breath, they each let out a thoroughly horrified scream.

"He escaped!" Pippin squealed with fright.

"He's loose in the building!" Frodo added fearfully.

"And there's innocent _people_ here!" Sam finished with terror. He suddenly jerked his head around. "The seafood platter! The little rat probably caught a whiff of the seafood platter!"

"Well where's that?" Frodo asked anxiously.

"I don't know!" Sam answered, frantic. "But we've got to split up and look for him!"

There was one last instant of hesitation among the trio, then they spun around and scurried off in three random directions, trying their best not to look conspicuous as they peeked under tables and crawled about on all fours.

The desperate search had begun.

--


	27. Disaster at the Dinner Party

(Disclaimer: nothing is mine)

**What's Up Doc?**

Haldir was at the end of his rope.

It'd been five hours since Wormtongue's escape, and the Lothlorien elf, despite all the years he'd spent as a border patrolman tracking down miscreant orcs and hung-over dwarves, had still not been able to find a trace of the fugitive patient. He'd told others about his search, even recruiting two or three other doctors to aid him in the hunt, but the last time he'd heard from anyone, Wormtongue was nowhere in sight. Now it was the middle of the evening, and the frustration was making Haldir's eyes twitch just a little more than they normally did.

He came around the corner with an enraged wheeze, skidding wildly across the newly waxed hall floor and narrowly avoiding a collision with a supply cart.

"Hello Gamling," he panted without even glancing at the Rohirrim man.

Gamling was able to regain his composure just long enough to return the hello. If Haldir had even heard him, the crazed elf showed no sign of it as he proceeded to gallop down the adjacent hallway with a look on his face that slightly resembled a rabid warg. Once Haldir disappeared yet again, the former Rohan guard dropped his head and resumed his laughing.

"Right down the steps," he chuckled in fond memory, completely unaware of his fellow staff member's daunting quest.

* * *

Sam spied Frodo carefully getting up from behind the buffet table, and after taking a quick glance around, he hurried over to his dark-haired friend.

"Anything?" he whispered anxiously.

Frodo shook his head. "I can't find him anywhere, Sam."

"Geeze! Where could that stinker have gotten to? You'd think we'd be able to smell him at least!"

"Well is there anywhere we haven't looked yet?"

Sam snapped his fingers eagerly as an idea sprang into his mind. "The restrooms! I forgot all about them!"

They were already starting to hurry off towards the bathrooms. "You really think Smeagol would go in there?" Frodo asked.

"Little frog's probably got his head halfway down a toilet right now," his heavy friend murmured.

No sooner had Sam said this than Elrond reappeared, stopping the two hobbits with an enthusiastic grin. "Oh! Sam! There you are. You know they're getting ready to start serving the dinner."

Sam frowned and shook his head. "I'm not very hungry right now, Mr. Elrond sir."

"No, I don't mean that." The elf turned his head slightly and arched his tweezed eyebrows. "I'm talking about the before dinner speech."

The sandy-haired hobbit was frozen. "My speech?" he echoed dumbly.

Elrond looked troubled for a second. "Do you have it with you?"

"Oh, yeah! I've got my notes in my pocket right here." Seeing that this wasn't reassuring enough to his boss, Sam quickly retrieved his infamous note cards.

"Good." Elrond grabbed Sam's arm and began dragging the hobbit away with him. "Think you'll be ready in seven minutes?"

"Well you see—" Sam began.

"I'll give you eight minutes then!" the elf cut him off. He continued leading his employee of the month through the crowd, leaving Frodo behind in a fluster.

The dark-haired hobbit tried to think as he took in this unfortunate turn of events. "I'll uh…I'll just be in the bathroom!" he called after Sam. "And…I guess I'll be right back out then!"

With that, he scurried off.

* * *

Pippin was starting to get anxious.

It'd been at least half an hour since Gollum's disappearance, and the three hobbits still hadn't found any trace of him. Frodo had just come back from the bathroom a few minutes ago with no update on the search, and he'd added that now their party was short by one more member. Sam was going to be making his speech in three minutes.

Naturally, not having the person Gollum was afraid of around made Pippin paranoid, but his nervousness was only made worse by the thought of Sam speaking in front of a crowd. About four years ago, the heavy-set hobbit had been asked to speak at an anti-pipeweed rally in the Shire, and (having come from a long line of pipeweed smokers) he'd been extremely concerned about publicly voicing his opinion on the mind-numbing plants. Pippin had tried to cure Sam of his stage fright with the suggestion of picturing the crowd in their underwear. Unfortunately, all the hype of the upcoming occasion had inspired Pippin to dig up his old stash of Longbottom, and he'd showed up to the rally the next morning in his own underwear. The events of that day were still hazy to him, but according to Merry's account, the Shire officials had decided that young Mr. Took's actions had convinced many more hobbits to stop smoking than Mr. Gamgee's speech ever would.

So tonight, to say the least, Pippin was trying to keep his head low. And the only way he knew to keep himself out of trouble was eating.

"I don't like these potatoes," he commented halfheartedly.

"Why not?" Frodo asked, not trying to sound interested.

"They're too big."

"So?"

"So, I can't fit a whole one in my mouth," Pippin explained. "I have to tear it in half, and then I get butter and salt all over me."

"They've got knives right over there," the other pointed.

Pippin frowned. "But it's such a long walk."

Frodo rolled his eyes and glanced around the room. He was suddenly starting to prefer the company of a morphine-crazed Smeagol. At that moment, though, a sudden announcement from the podium interrupted his exasperated thoughts.

"Good evening!" the dwarf speaker called out cheerfully. "How's everyone doing tonight?"

The rest of the guests responded with lively applause. The dwarf grinned and continued.

"Hard to believe it's already been twenty-five years! And I think we owe all that to our great medical staff at St. Radaghast. I'm not gonna get all long-winded here—that's the next guy's job tonight. But it gives me great pleasure to introduce one of our finest doctors to speak on everyone's behalf. Doctors, nurses, lunch ladies, janitors, everybody…let's give a big round for Dr. Sam Gamgee."

Frodo and Pippin happily joined in on the clapping as Sam took the dwarf's place at the podium. There was a few seconds of silence as the new hobbit speaker adjusted the microphone, and then the much-anticipated first words were heard.

"Hello there," Sam started a little nervously. "Good speech, Dori. It was short and sweet, just the way all these hungry people like it." He paused for the light laugher. "Your time record's gonna be tough to beat, but I'll try to make this as quick as I can.

"Before I moved out of the Shire, medical school was honestly the farthest thing from my mind. I was more used to quests and battles and getting dragged all over the continent with orcs on my tail. Sounds like a lot of hassle, but I do have to tell you, it was very fulfilling. Mind you, we did end up saving Middle Earth in the process, but I think the most fulfilling part of all of that, for me at least, was being a part of the Fellowship. We were all brothers in that group, and we all bonded tremendously over the course of our quest. Me, my roommates Frodo and Pippin over there, my third roommate Merry who couldn't make it tonight, Aragorn, Legolas, Gandalf, Gimli, and Boromir—we were all faced with every challenge imaginable on that trip, but when we stuck together and fought it out, we all got through pretty well, or at least a lot better than we would've alone. We helped each other, and I think it was that part of being in our Fellowship that really made me want to become a doctor. I help people every day now, and I think that the massive turnout we've had tonight is enough proof that our staff's become its own giant Fellowship."

Again, he was met with a roomful of applause.

"Banding together, fighting it out, and getting through the challenges, we really are one big brother- and sisterhood, and I can't think of anywhere else where I'd have rather experienced that kind of connection. So here's to another twenty-five years of us working together, and here's to all of us being part of a giant family, the hobbits, men, elves, wizards, and dwarves."

The audience would have started applauding again at this, but just as Sam finished the sentence, a startling _BAM!_ sounded out across the room as the double doors were thrown open. Every head whirled around in surprise, and each of their eyes came to rest with horror on the growling, red-faced, tie-dye-clad dwarf framed in the entranceway with a battle-axe.

Gimli had found his way to the party.

"_Peregrin Took! Samwise Gamgee!_" the enraged drunkard bellowed. "Your efforts are in vain! Your time is up! My quest…_has come…TO AN END!_"

Then he lifted his axe high over his head, resembling an unbearably overweight Samurai warrior, and with a ground-shaking howl, Gimli launched himself into the banquet hall.

Guests screamed, chairs tumbled, and a number of food platters were sent flying as the crowd took off in a chaotic stampede. Pippin and Frodo both dove out of their seats and began crawling under the tables for cover. Behind them, Gimli had caught sight of the fleeing pair and was now proceeding to kick aside, flip over, and hack to pieces every one of those "protective" tables as he gave chase.

Sam frantically leapt away from the podium to stop the out-of-control dwarf, but the wave of fleeing dinner guests slowed him down drastically. How did that crazy whack-job find his way to the dinner party anyway? Gimli must have asked every person in the city for directions!

It was in the middle of this mad scrambling, as the terrified cries rose to their highest points and pieces of furniture began tumbling across the room, that the final, fourth member of Sam's party decided to reappear onto the scene.

So possessed Gollum looked as he rose behind the podium, twitching madly and laughing to himself like a maniac. After stopping to catch his breath, he arched backwards once again and resumed screaming his favorite phrase.

"SHIRE! _BAGGINS!_"

Gollum was hardly even noticed in the fray, but still he continued shouting the ridiculous words until another laughing fit seized him. This time, however, his eyes were bugging almost completely out of their sockets, and after a few cackles, the laughing was replaced by coughing and gagging. Suddenly, his face turned chalk white and he slumped heavily against the stand. A second later, his coughing stopped with a sharp little squeak, and he collapsed out of sight behind the podium.

He didn't get back up.

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Soon to be updated…


	28. The Ultimate Showdown

(Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me, but I love them like they did. :) )

Now on with the madness!

**What's Up Doc?**

Frodo carefully cracked open the door of the hospital room and peered inside. "How's he doing?"

Sam glanced up from his seat beside the life-support machine. "Good. He's still sleeping though; don't wake him."

Frodo nodded and looked thoughtfully down at Gollum. It'd been a trying five hours since the incident at the dinner party. The hobbits had found their companion in an unresponsive heap behind the podium, and after calling an ambulance, Sam had set to work trying to revive him while some animal control officers tackled Gimli to the floor in a haze of pepper spray nearby. Now, Smeagol was out cold in a hospital bed, dressed in a cotton patient's robe and hooked up to three different machines. The crazy old creature was going to be just fine.

Sam turned puzzled as he saw Frodo walk into the room alone. "Pippin's not back yet?"

The other shrugged and sat down beside him. "No. I guess he ran into some late night traffic. I still haven't heard anything about Merry."

The heavier hobbit waved the matter aside. "Merry knows what he's doing. Besides, I'm too tired to worry about him right now. I do want to have a word with Pippin about this, though."

Frodo sighed and looked up at the ceiling with a hint of a smile. "…That was some party. You know, I think it might even give Bilbo's 111th birthday a run for the money."

"That isn't the half of it," Sam grumbled. He reached over and scooped up a stack of papers sitting on top of the life-support machine. "I had one of the nurses do a background check on our friend Wormtongue, and she just got this back to me an hour ago. Turns out he really _is_ a fully licensed physician." Grimness had crept into Sam's voice. "He's got a clean record, happy patients, all the right stuff."

Frodo was completely dumbfounded. "He's_ fully licensed?_" He stared with shock into space as the rest of this revelation dawned on him. "So…everything we did with Smeagol…"

"We didn't have to," Sam finished for him. "Wormtongue's got him on Celexa, and he knows what he's doing."

There was an awkward pause as Frodo took all of this in, then he snapped out of his trance with a hopeful notion.

"Well…maybe it's better that we took him off of the pills anyway. I mean…at least he's back to his old self again."

"Filthy hobbitses," Gollum suddenly mumbled in his sleep. "Wicked, tricksy, false. We ought to wrings their neckses, Precious, yes! Snap their filthy neckses and stabs out their eyeses with their nasty little boneses! Nasty, stinking hobbitses, we hates them!"

Then with that, he rolled over onto his side and began snoring loudly.

Sam arched his eyebrows sardonically. "Yeah, good thing for that."

Frodo frowned and glanced out the window at the dark sky. There was another pause, and Sam studied Gollum in thought.

"Even so," he went on, "The hospital sponsors seemed pretty impressed with how we handled the situation."

"What do you mean?"

Sam shifted a little in his seat. "They congratulated me a little while ago for being able to pull Smeagol through. They said not many doctors can perform emergency procedures on their friends."

Frodo looked at him oddly. "But he's _not_ your friend."

"We have a familiar _history_," Sam offered lamely.

The other hobbit shrugged. "Well, I guess actions do speak louder than words. Saving someone said a lot more about you than your speech did."

"I just wish I'd known ahead of time that this was gonna happen." Dr. Gamgee leaned back tiredly against the wall. "It would've saved me a lot of stress writing that thing."

Just then, the creaking of the room door ended their conversation, and the two turned to see Pippin walking in with a video and a white paper bag.

"Sorry I'm late," the youngest hobbit said. "I got held up."

"At Eat'n Park?" Sam asked skeptically, recognizing the trademark smiley cookie on the bag.

"What?" Pippin defended. "It's for Smeagol! I thought I should make it up to him." He placed the takeout on Gollum's bed tray and pulled up another chair. "So what was wrong with him anyway? Was all the commotion with Gimli too much for him?"

Sam was far from amused. "He went into cardiac arrest from all that morphine you gave him. You could've killed him, Pippin!"

"I said I was just trying to help! I didn't know all that stuff would be dangerous!"

"How could you not know that?"

"Because you told me morphine was like ale!" Pippin shot back. "I've drank a lot more than ten liters of ale before and felt fine! It was a bad analogy!"

Frodo quickly jumped in to end the quarrel. "Did you get the movie?" he asked.

Pippin nodded and held up Gollum's copy of _The Two Towers_. "Yep. Found it under his couch. He's got something written on the front here though. 'Ns Golom' or whatever. Does it mean anything?"

"It's a long story," Frodo said dismissively. "Let's just hook up the VCR while we're waiting for him to wake up."

Pippin nodded, getting up again. "Where do we plug it in?"

Sam pointed to an outlet beside the hospital bed. "Down there. You have to unplug the ceiling light to make room first."

"Right on it," the young Took said, and he eagerly scurried over to crouch and grab the top plug. He tugged on the white chord, but to his surprise, the plug didn't budge. Pippin tried again, only to get the same results.

"Need help?" Frodo asked.

Pippin shook his head. "No, I've got it. Man, this is a tough one!"

Then he grasped the chord with both hands, and stopping to take a deep breath, he yanked with all of his might. The plug immediately popped out of its socket, but the force of his pull sent him tumbling backwards. With a startled grunt, Pippin fell back over the bed rail and collided noisily with Gollum. The bedridden ex-hobbit groaned from the sudden impact and woke up unpleasantly, blearily spotting his unwelcome awakener.

Given his current situation, it was only natural for Gollum to be worried by the sight of someone standing next to his bed with a disconnected plug.

"_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!_"

The three hobbits all leapt back in shock, until Pippin suddenly realized what was wrong and hastily tried to explain to the patient that he'd only unplugged the ceiling light. However, Gollum was far too busy screaming at his approaching demise to listen, and the quickening pace of his heart monitor only muted Pippin's words further. Finally, it became clear to the Took that he would never get his message across, so he simply plugged the light back in. A second later, Gollum ceased his shrieking.

"Nasty, ugly hobbit! It tried to kill us again!"

"Kill you _again_?" Pippin echoed indignantly. "I never tried to kill you _once_!"

"It gave us that medicine and told us it was ice cream, Precious!" Gollum barked. "It lied to us!"

"Quit yelling at me!" Pippin whined. "I _had_ to give you the stuff! Yell at Frodo! He's the one who took you off your pills in the first place!"

Now it was Frodo's turn to be indignant. "I was concerned! He wasn't acting right! I didn't know what kind of stuff Wormtongue was giving him!" Gollum fell silent at this.

Seeing his chance, Sam also stood and hurried to place himself in between Frodo and Pippin. "Now that's enough! Everything's going to be fine, so there's no need to be pointing fingers at anyone! Alright?"

None of the other three voiced any opposition.

Sam nodded. "Alright. Now let's all just calm down and think this through before things get any worse."

Evidently, he'd learned nothing from that long, torturous week.

"There you are!"

All four of them spun around in time to see the growling, bearded, and beet-red face of a dwarf appeared in front of them with a kick of the room door. Together, Frodo, Sam, and Pippin gawked in identical horror at none other than the wild threat, Gimli. True, the dwarf was strapped tightly into a straight jacket and his eyes were still a bit red from the pepper spray, but he was a threat nonetheless.

"Yeh were lucky before, but now I've got you cornered!" he cried, waddling closer. "Gimme the money, you dirty rascals!"

"Gimli, I already told you: I'm not paying to fix a car that you stole!" Sam said defiantly, ignoring Pippin as the younger hobbit flattened himself up against the wall. "And the more you come after me about this, the more you're hurting your chances of getting anything! You ruined the hospital's dinner party! It's a wonder they're not asking _you_ for money!"

"But you don't understand!" the dwarf protested loudly. "This is the third strike! If Balin finds out what I did and I can't show him anything for it, he'll—"

"—String you up like spaghetti and serve you to a Balrog!" finished his white-bearded cousin, who burst onto the scene just as irately. Gimli squealed, instantly losing his fiery demeanor, and sprang back to cower in the corner.

"No! Balin, you don't understand! I was only borrowing the car for one afternoon! One afternoon! I was gonna refill the gas and return it that same day if it wasn't for the hobbits! I swear to Eru I was!"

"You can swear to Eru when I send you up to him personally!" Balin howled and began rolling up his sleeves. "I'm gonna send your head clear through your—"

"Ah-HA!"

Before Balin could finish his thought, a third intruder staggered through the door, standing nearly twice as tall as the rest of the group and wearing a frosty but dripping patient's gown. His soaked black hair was plastered to his head, and his face (with the exception of a monstrously huge black eye) was chalk white.

"Samuel Smith!" he shouted at Sam, revealing a mouth full of missing and broken teeth. "You back-stabbing, double-crossing, two-faced rodent! I told you to stay away from my patient!"

Sam stumbled away slightly. "I didn't know you were a real doctor," he tried to explain. "I didn't know you actually had a license to put him on medication!"

"Of course I have a license!" Wormtongue cried back. "How do you think I got my job in the first place?"

"Bribery?" Sam suggested.

Grima sneered. "I warned you about crossing your boundaries, you little rat! And now I'm gonna hold _my _end of the threat!" Then the frostbitten psychotic sprang forward.

He didn't get one meter.

Out of the doorway, another figure, smaller than the other three, leapt into sight brandishing a large, tan and red rectangular object in both hands. With a loud grunt of effort, he swung the strange weapon at its towering target.

WHUMP!

Grima doubled over, clutching his gut where he'd been hit.

WHUMP!

Then Wormtongue hit the ground dumbly as he'd been conked in the head with the same object. But Sam's mysterious rescuer didn't stop there.

WHUMP! Balin was down.

WHUMP! And Gimli was out cold on the floor as well.

Sam stared at the odd weapon in confusion. "Is that…the _hospital's_ lasagna?"

"Where is he?" the mystery intruder—a hobbit—snapped. "Where's my lousy cousin? I know he's skulking around here somewhere! Where is he?"

"Where's _who_?" Frodo asked. But beside him, Gollum was sitting up with an amazed look of recognition on his face. He stared at the stranger for another moment, then he blinked his large heavy lids in a daze and spoke.

"…Deagol?"

Sure enough, the lasagna-wielding warrior turned surprised at the sound of his name. He squinted at Gollum for a second, seeming skeptical, and then reached into his pocket and pulled out a weathered old photograph. He studied the image for a second then looked back up.

"Smeagol?"

"Yes, Precious."

The strange hobbit, Deagol, arched his eyebrows grimly as he gazed at his withered old cousin. "Wow. You've lost a lot of hair!"

Gollum scowled. "So we've heard."

Pippin stepped away from the wall just then, puzzled. "Wait. This is your cousin?" he asked Gollum. "I thought you said you killed him!"

"Not quite," Deagol answered. "He only blocked off my air supply long enough to put me in a comma!"

Frodo looked at him skeptically. "You were in a comma for five-hundred years and you didn't even age?"

Deagol shrugged. "The doctors couldn't figure it out either."

His cousin cut in irritably. "What does it want, Precious?"

"Revenge, that's what! I missed five-hundred years because of you, and I've been hunting you down ever since I woke up in this very hospital five years ago! I'm gonna make you wish you never put that Ring on!"

"It'll have to try hard, Deagolses," Gollum sneered, "because Smeagol's seen a lot of that excitement you missed!"

"_I'll kill you!_" Deagol roared.

"_I'll kill you again!_" And with that, the two reached out and proceeded to violently throttle each other.

Sam shoved past Pippin in an attempt to break them up. "Stop it! This is a hospital! Get a hold of yourselves!"

Behind him, Wormtongue, Gimli and Balin began to come to. Wormtongue woozily opened his blurry eyes and looked up, and as if the situation couldn't get any more chaotic, he was greeted with the sight of a very frazzled elf glaring down at him from above.

Haldir was absolutely livid. "You!" He pointed sharply down at Wormtongue. "Call me a she-man, will you? Well we'll see who's the she-man when I'm through with you!" Then the Lothlorien warrior donned his battle face and drew a surgical scalpel from his shirt pocket.

Wormtongue screamed and leapt to his feet. Likewise, Gimli rolled over onto his stomach and began inching his way angrily towards a scrambling Pippin, screaming as he was in turn chased by a dizzily swaying Balin.

For five minutes, this mess went on with Sam and Frodo trying to pry Smeagol and Deagol away from each other and everyone else fleeing around the room from their weeklong enemies. Then finally, as the first pieces of equipment began to fall from their shelves and clang onto the floor, one last figure arrived to witness the epic brawl.

Merry.

"What are you doing?!" he exclaimed from the doorway.

Pippin looked up with a start. "Merry!"

The others, however, continued to fight, and so Mr. Brandybuck resumed his scolding.

"Stop it! Stop it right now! You should all be ashamed of yourselves! What are you doing?" Then as a last resort, he cried, "_QUIET!_" and seven more heads turned to observe him.

Merry squared his jaw. After what he'd been through, he had no desire to be caught in the middle of another free-for-all. "Now what's all of this about?"

Pippin was the first to speak up. "He's trying to kill me, Merry!" he pointed at the straight-jacket-clad Gimli. "He tried to kill me at the dinner party too!"

"That's just 'cause Balin's trying to kill _me_!" Gimli pointed out.

"Yes! And _we's_ trying to kill each otherses!" Gollum added.

Merry held up two silencing hands before anyone else could contribute. "Look, look, guys… I understand that you all want to kill each other! You all have your little personal disputes that can easily be solved with violent hand-to-hand combat. But I'm sure there's a peaceful, calm, non-deadly way we can straighten all of this out. We're all hobbits after all!"

"I'm a dwarf!" Balin snapped.

"Me too," Gimli squeaked from the floor.

"Technically, Smeagol and I are Stoors," Deagol corrected.

Merry frowned. "Oh. Well…we're all _short_."

"_I'm_ not!" Haldir growled.

"I just hunch from back problems," Grima noted.

"We're all _mammals_!" Merry said then. "Warm-blooded, air-breathing, hair-growing mammals with the ability to think." He spread his arms welcomingly. "Can't we all put this aside and just get along? Come on! _All we are saying… is give peace a chance!_ All together now!"

For a long time, nobody said anything. They all just stood there, gazing at Merry and seeming to take in his words. Then finally, Gimli decided to break that sacred silence. Sitting up, he carefully rose to his feet and made his way over to Gollum's hospital bed. He eyed the fourth hobbit once more, then with a sudden burst of strength, tore his tattooed arms free of their bondage and seized the bed tray.

"Let's _get him!_"

The last thing Merry could remember was a wall of angry faces and limbs, united as they sailed towards him with their array of makeshift weapons.

--

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A long chapter, but I wanted to wrap up all of the conflicts together. There's still one more chapter to go!


	29. Closing Number

(Disclaimer: I am not J.R.R. Tolkien, these are not my characters, and this is not my franchise.)

**What's Up Doc?**

Sam sighed as he made the C-Bird turn a corner. "I still can't believe Gollum wasn't mad at you for getting him off his medication. He usually goes right to the source with these sort of things."

Frodo shrugged in the front passenger's seat. "He said it was only fair what happened. He tried to feed me to a spider, so he thinks getting taken off of his meds and nearly dying from heart failure serves him right. Itold Smeagol he really shouldn't think of it that way, but he's still sticking with that conclusion."

"At least he's being reasonable," Sam admitted quietly.

It was three days after the incident in the hospital room. The issue with Wormtongue had been resolved with a wary apology from Sam, and after a reluctant confession and explanation from Eomer, the leech-crafting doctor was released from St. Radaghast and returned to his work at the West Orthanc Clinic. Merry had been knocked unconscious in the scuffle, and had only regained consciousness this morning. However, the recuperating hobbit said he'd preferred his nice quiet coma to the never-ending _Two Towers_ marathon that his scrawny new roommate was forcing him to endure now. This seemed only a minor inconvenience to Sam when he looked at the ease in which these problems had been resolved. But he was not ready to celebrate this success just yet; there was still one more problem left to deal with.

"I still don't see why I have to do this," Pippin complained from the back seat.

"You want to settle your problem with Gimli, don't you?" Frodo asked him. Pippin gave no response.

"Oh come on, Pippin," Sam chimed in. "Things are going so good right now. Merry came out of his coma, Wormtongue's off my back, Deagol's going to anger management, and Gollum's gonna be released in two days. You might as well burry the hatchet with Gimli now and make everything right."

"It's _him_ burying _his_ hatchet that I'm worried about," Pippin pointed out. "Right in the middle of my head."

"Well we need a fourth person anyway," Sam concluded.

"I don't know why Gimli wanted _me_ to show up, though," Frodo added. "He's got Balin in on this too; that's four people. Why does he want an extra person?"

"I don't know. Maybe you're an understudy." Sam spotted the road sign he'd been looking for and pulled over to parallel park. "Alright, let's do this. You got your hat, Pippin?"

"Yeah, right here," the younger hobbit grumbled, holding up a home-made Indian headdress. The accessory consisted of a single headband, made of blue and red construction paper, and it had a handful of pastel-colored feathers glued to it all around. It looked like a four-year-old had made it.

"Good," Sam said with a nod, then he placed a plastic yellow construction worker's helmet on his own head and got out of the car.

The three hobbits found their dwarven companions standing on the sidewalk a few cars up, accompanied by a very unamused elf in a leather jacket. Gimli had donned his infamous sailor cap for the event, and Balin was wearing a rather realistic-looking policeman hat. Clutched in their hands were a battered looking electric guitar and a red cowboy hat. Listlessly, the two groups approached each other.

Pippin looked up in surprise at the elf, suddenly recognizing him. "Legolas?"

"Hello, Pippin," the Mirkwood prince nodded.

"What're you supposed to be?"

Legolas looked away with a bleak expression. "Eye candy."

Gimli pointed a sausage-sized finger at Frodo just then. "Can you play a guitar?"

"No," the dark-haired hobbit answered truthfully.

"Well you better learn fast," the dwarf grumbled, then he shoved the purple instrument into Frodo's hands. In turn, Balin took the cowboy hat and cheerlessly clapped it on top of Frodo's head, furrowing his brow. He could tell that Mr. Baggins was going to be an iffy background musician.

Once their unwilling guitarist was seated on the ground, the other four lined up in a row beside him. Balin sighed as he adjusted the position of a tin can sitting in front of the group, then turned to Gimli and asked, "Which song should he play first?"

His red-bearded cousin paused in thought, then replied, "Maybe we should start off with the big hits, just to their attention faster."

Balin nodded and told Frodo the name of a song. "Alright, boys," he mumbled to the rest. "You know the words."

Frodo hesitated for a second, then figuring that there was nothing he could possibly do to make this sound good, began strumming randomly on the guitar strings. The other four listened to a few painful notes, and when the moment was right, they all stepped forward and burst into song.

"_Young man!  
There's no need to feel down!  
I said young man!  
Get yourself off the ground!  
I said young man!  
'Cause you're in a new town!  
There's no need to be unhappy!_"

The song went on for another verse, during which Sam, Pippin, Gimli, and Balin began performing a somewhat synchronized dance. Frodo played his guitar slightly louder in hopes of covering up the flatness in their voices, and Legolas was keeping himself busy by smiling and winking at every female who walked past the pitiful show. Once the second verse finished, Sam grudgingly stepped forward to lead the famous chorus.

"It's fun to stay at the—"

The others all threw their arms up as one. "_Y, M, C, A!_"

"It's fun to stay at the—"

"_Y, M, C, A!_" They were all bobbing up and down as they formed the giant letters.

"_They have everything,  
For young men to enjoy!  
You can hang out with all the boys!_"

All around them, the hoards of busy elves, men, dwarves, and hobbits continued on their ways, most of them oblivious to the four pint-sized Village People dancing in front of them. Despite this, Legolas continued to wink, Frodo continued to play, and Sam, Pippin, Gimli, and Balin only sang louder, all of them determined to keep their performance going strong as they danced on the sidewalk of their strange little city.

It was going to take them ages to pay for that windshield.

--

**THE END**

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I know! I hate to see this story end too! It's been so much fun writing it, and I'm very grateful to all of you for reading and reviewing it so loyally over the past two and a half years. Your insight has made tinkering with this crazy storyline all the more worthwhile!

In fact, I've enjoyed working on this fanfiction so much that I am actually considering writing a sequel. I'm not sure exactly when the story would be up, because I'm still trying to work out the basic storyline. I don't want this to be some half thought out sequel that loses a lot of the original quality, and it's gonna be especially tough for me to top or at least match **What's Up Doc?**.

So fans of this story, keep your fingers crossed for **What's Up Doc: More Madness** in the near future.

Good-bye for now, hobbitses!


End file.
